


Intimacy

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertail - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Sexual Tension, Smut, Spanking, Very fluffy, drabbles crossposted from my tumblr, gaster is a tsundere with all tsun no dere, in response to anons, pain play, reader will be ambiguous when possible, the bros are sweet, they generally give me a prompt and i write a very small thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 41
Words: 20,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of moments between you and three very different men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Papyrus/Reader, Soft

**Author's Note:**

> On my tumblr I sometimes get anons that inspire me to write minifics, stuff that isn't quite substantial enough to be given their own fic. This will be a good place to compile them, so I figured you might get a kick out of them as well. ^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Husk would be next, and it is, but I've had awful computer problems recently. This one is just a warm up before I get back into writing it; thank you for being patient.

His touches, to your surprise, are soft. He didn’t usually do soft. 

His warm skull thrummed appreciatively, a rumble like a purr, as he listened to your alien heartbeat, a thing that was so odd to him; a muscle that pumps  _blood?_ A complex, intricate link of viscera and sinew dedicated to keeping you alive, instead of being made of magic and dust? Wowie! It was a compromising position, an intimate one. You could see down his shorts. 

Your breath quickened. 

“IT… IS IT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT? IS THIS ONE OF THOSE HEART ATTACKS I’VE HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT? SO COOL!”

You reassured him that you were not, in fact, having a heart attack. You assumed he thought it was some sort of elaborate defensive maneuver, like those from his comics, where people scream ‘Heart attack!!’ and shoot lasers out of their eyes. You told him you couldn’t do that, either, but you weren’t sure if he believed you.

He rubbed at your shoulder, pressing his firm skull further into the thin flesh of your chest. “HMM… IT CHANGES SPEED DEPENDING ON WHERE I TOUCH? WHY?”

A physiological reaction, you said, delighting in his earnest curiosity. You gently stroked his scalp and he let out a contented huff, shivering. He loved attention. He reminded you of a housecat; proud and haughty but would melt under the right attention. He bopped your knee with his finger, ear to you like he was listening to the ground, tracking a wild animal. 

He pressed at your groin. 

“IT’S LIKE A DRUMBEAT.”


	2. Papyrus/Reader, Spanking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another warmup before a writing session ^^

Papyrus, you’ve noticed, was never one for subtlety. He could lie, of course, could deceive, even when he greatly preferred not to, but even then he took great pains not to beat about the bush. It was always best to be honest, after all. 

“I WANT YOU TO SPANK ME LIKE THE NAUGHTY BOY I AM!” This sentence was a surprise for two reasons. One; it had come out of nowhere, it was two AM and you were in the middle of a comfortable sleep, tucked under his arm as he lazily played with your hair. And two; it had never occurred to him to mention this fact before. When you turned around, bleary, assuming someone had broken in, his demand garbled in your mind, he looked you in the eye, his teeth glinting in the darkness.

“SO! ARE YOU INTERESTED? IN PUNISHING ME,” he purred, and all at once it clicked. You mumbled that you would think about it, before he pulled you closer into a crushing embrace as he trilled with delight, forgetting that sleep, to Humans, was essential.

“OH I’M SO GLAD! I WAS WORRIED IT WOULD SEEM, YOU KNOW, A BIT WEIRD, BUT THIS IS GOING TO BE A LOT OF FUN! I WANT YOU TO DISCIPLINE ME LIKE… WELL, NOTHING TOO EXTREME. LIKE I’VE BEEN A SAUCY RAPSCALLION!”

You looked to him pleadingly.

“OH, RIGHT, SLEEP, OF COURSE! YOU NEED THAT! NEVER FEAR, THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS AS QUIET AS A HORNY DOORMOUSE!”

He pecked you on the scalp before snuggling back in, and at last you felt sleep trickle over you like honey.

 

* * *

 

Bones were tough things. You knew, you had bashed your hip against that stairwell more than enough times to judge. This presented issues, as flesh had softness, give. Bone was bone. It was brittle, and white, and currently protruding at you, wrapped with a cute little ribbon around his sacrum. You were willing to bet that took him at least half an hour. You saw him rest his head against his forearm, and wiggle his tailbone at you cutely. You were sure you had heard him giggle. 

“I-I’M NOT USED TO PEOPLE SEEING ME LIKE THIS,” he admitted, still swaying his hips hypnotically at you, easily falling into a gentle rhythm. “I MEAN, PEOPLE LOOK AT MY TAILBONE ALL THE TIME, OBVIOUSLY. I MEAN IN THE NAKED SENSE–”

For your own amusement, you brought the fat of your palm to it and smacked as hard as you can, and the top of his body crumpled to the bedsheet as he slurred a relieved ‘W-WOWIE…’ 

You hand ached. Again, you reared your palm, and his hips twitched reflexively away, despite wanting it. You slapped, and tugged roughly on the ribbon on the way up. He was moaning, and you couldn’t help but smile, seeing his cock jiggle with every movement, dripping precum onto the pristine bedsheets. 

“… T-THAT’S AS HARD AS YOU CAN GO?”

Ooh, a challenge! 


	3. All Three/Reader, Kissing

Papyrus likes soft kisses, that slowly grow harder. He’s a romantic like that; there’s a way of doing things, according to his guides on both seduction, and that one unpleasantly sticky book from the library about lovemaking, and there’s a dedicated order. It’s soft kissing, then a more passionate embrace, and then the lovemaking, and if he’s good for another round it’s time to fuck you right into the ground. But first and foremost, it’s the soft press of your lips to his parted teeth. Always.

Sans likes it rough, and quick, and hard, so that you’re not so much kissing as fighting with your mouths. It’s the only part he puts any real effort into, because after a while your body forces you to take control as he lies back and lets you get to it, eyes scrunched and smile pursing under the pleasure. Until then it’s all nips and bites and bleeding. He has teeth. It’s a shame not to use them. 

You press your lips to Gaster’s face and he has _no idea how to proceed_. He knows how sex works, he’s had it before, but this is something far, far closer. He’s completely static, his face slablike, and you go to pull away before he steels himself and jerkingly pulls you back because he’s already started, and it’s a shame to stop. It’s slow, and halting, and his tongue is entirely too  _viscous,_ nervously prodding at your own. Finally, you pull away for breath, having finally carved out a rhythm for him to follow. You catch him toying with his hands bashfully, before quickly composing himself and declaring you to be a terrible kisser, mopping awkwardly at his mouth, and leaning in for more. 


	4. All Three/Reader, Clit play

Sans _likes_ to pretend he knows what he’s doing, as he kneels at your cunt and breathes. He watched a lot of porn after all, and if time spent masturbating counted towards sexual skill then he would be a regular casanova. But he’s looking at your wet slit, and back to you, and back to it, and his mouth dries out immediately. He composes himself. He slowly, gently brings his finger to your clit and rolls it between his sweating fingers, and as you groan and buck your hips he can’t help but feel he’s got the knack down. 

Papyrus has no idea what he’s doing! That’s part of the fun. A deep, wet kiss had turned to him _ripping_ off your underwear so you could make ‘SWEET, VIOLENT LOVE!’, which, in turn, had led to him clumsily exploring you. You spasmed as he clumsily probed, grinding his palm into your nub unintentionally. 

“… WHAT WAS THAT? IS THIS THE MYSTICAL CILANTRO I’VE HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT? I KNOW WHAT TO DO, I WATCHED A VIDEO AND EVERYTHING!”

Before you can catch your breath he’s clumsily lapping away, his inexperience giving to make way for his boundless enthusiasm as you feel him giggle into your mound, a low, thrumming heat already building in your abdomen as you clench and unclench.

Gaster doesn’t especially care. He knows what a clit is, he’s exceptionally old and far from naive, but it doesn’t directly benefit him and so he neglects it as he primes himself to fuck you. You’re dry. Damn. With a sigh of complaint, he brings a finger to your mouth and you suckle on it as you smirk, before he withdraws to press mechanically at your clit; long, swaying rolls, like the motion of a steady tide. Rough, stuttering presses, and the undulations of old, very old hands as he feels a wetness slowly drip onto them. Good. That will do. He thrusts into you gracelessly. He’s still playing with your clit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more writing warmups! i do these anyway, might as well post them ^^


	5. Sans/Reader, Caught

You’re fucking yourself so hard you don’t even notice the click of the door. Warm, slick hands set to work as they always have as you keen into the touch, breathing the thick, musty scent of the hoodie as ride your own fingers. He smells of deodorant and soap that hasn’t been quite washed out, and lingering sweat that added to your arousal because you _shouldn’t_ be doing this. It was invasive, it was filthy, it was unclean, and you were going to _cum–_

You scrambled to cover yourself when you heard him cough, before your eyes hung on Sans’ exposed cock, dripping in precum as he slowly tugged at himself. 

“you, uh… just needed to ask y-y–”

A high, strangled grunt as he picked up speed, looking you up and down. Naked. In his hoodie. Wet. 

“… y’know.” He lazily nodded to your cunt like he was pointing out a streetsign in passing, still jerking in the doorway. “you mind if i, uh…?”

You nodded, mouth clamped shut and dry, and before you could speak he had teleported behind you and crammed himself in to the hilt. 

“heh, rad,” he breathed, before he started to fuck in earnest. 


	6. All Three/Reader, Thick Thighs

Papyrus likes your soft flesh. He likes to nibble at it, and see the white marks of his teeth fade out to nothing. He does it absently, when he lays his head on your lap to be stroked after a long day calibrating and recalibrating puzzles. Absent little nips. Chaste, and innocent, until the kisses become more heated and his grabbing more forceful, and then it’s very much not.

With Sans there’s not even the _illusion_ of innocence. He knows full well the appeal of thighs are. He knows full well how to utilize them, groping and pawing as he fucks you deeply, murmuring things only you can hear as the bedsprings wrench under the effort and his thrusts stutter. You clamp around him and he cums, clawing so hard that he pricks the skin with his solid fingers. He apologises, then slumps on top of you to nap. He’s small enough for you to pick him up, but you leave him. He looks cosy.

Gaster likes holding onto something when he fucks you from behind, running his teeth across your neck and pumping, and pumping, and pumping, holding your thick thighs apart as he skewers you with his cock, dragging his white fingers across them until he scrapes. You can’t do anything; he’s off the bed and holding you, and you’re going to cum around him. 


	7. All Three/Reader, Breakups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time to sad

(You breaking up with them)

 

Papyrus, as befitting a potential member of the Royal Guard, handles himself with great dignity. He only bawls for three hours as you sit opposite him on the sofa, unsure of how to proceed, because his dating book didn’t account for this. According to it, and it’s flawless logic, you should both be discussing marriage, and kids, and moving in, and arguing over what kind of plants suit the garden. This is clearly some sort of test, you obviously want him to prove how much he loves you, so he gets on both knees to prostrate himself before you quietly cut him off. You can hear him sobbing from his room. The answer would have been chrysanthemums.

Sans takes it well. Too well. Distressingly well. So much so that it’s very clear he’s hiding behind that iron constitution. You say ‘I’m leaving you’ and he, without a beat, without a crack, responds ‘of course you are’. Grillby’s is warm, and you thought the familiarity of the place would ease him, but it’s a mocking, seeping sort of warmness now, like pus through a bandage. You get up to go, to make the process as painless as possible, and when he thinks you aren’t looking he holds his head in his hands and orders a double vodka. And when he catches you, he waves you off. He’s Sans the skeleton, and he’ll be alright, he always is. Or at least, he’s good at pretending. 

Gaster, to your surprise, accepts it quietly. There’s no blustering, or boasting, or threats. He looks out of his window over the city, and wishes you well, but you see the emphatic way he signs, and the odd noises that linger in his throat and he looks like he’s going to _cry_ , but he won’t, he hasn’t cried in _years_ , so he resigns himself to thinking he’s better than you and sends you on your way. He’s lying of course. He’s good at that.

 

(Them breaking up with you)

 

Papyrus hands you a pamphlet, face down, and requests that you don’t read it until your conversation is over. You glance to it anyway, not thinking anything of it, and the title hits you.

“… ‘ _How to deal with breakups’?”_

“OH NO! OH GOD, OH NO, YOU WERE MEANT TO READ THAT AT THE _END_ , THE _END_  OF THE CONVERSATION!” He clutches his head in his hands, before he steels himself, twiddling his fingers and averting his gaze. “I… SOMETIMES PEOPLE GROW APART AS _LOVERS,_ BUT, UM… HOW DO I PUT THIS…”

“You’re leaving me,” you choke. He snaps his fingers. 

“YES, THAT’S IT!” He exclaims, before realizing his reaction was wholly inappropriate. He was happy you were accepting it, is all. 

“BUT– BUT I THINK WE CAN STILL BE FRIENDS! WE’LL BE JUST AS CLOSE BUT I WON’T… LOVE YOU THE SAME WAY, O-OR SLEEP WITH YOU, OR–”

You begin to cry, and he rubs at your shoulders, making you feel _worse_.

Sans has no idea where to begin. You’re in a café, a crowded one, you noticed hesitantly, and he pushes a coffee towards you. 

“… so. how’ve you been?”

You sip it, and look at him oddly. You had only seen each other yesterday, and there was an odd atmosphere hanging between you that you couldn’t peel back. He scratches his skull, averting your gaze and it hits you because, come thick or thin, he’s always looked you dead in the eye. He sighs, and the coffee is scalding you through the cup.

“… look, i’m dancin’ around it, we ain’t workin’ out. we’re too different. you can do better.”

“That’s something people say as a cop-out,” you spit, and from the look in his eyes you can tell he’s being sincere.

“yeah, well… if you come out of this conversation hating me, that just makes this easier, right?”

Gaster has called you to his home, and you’ve rang the doorbell. Then comes the waiting; his home is large and immaculate, and it always takes him a few minutes to–

The door swings open.

’I don’t love you anymore,’ he signs, looking worse for wear, ‘and it’s best if you leave.’

He shuts the door, leaving you in the dark.

… The fucker!


	8. All Three/Reader, Proposals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps the fluffiest, most indulgent thing i've ever written, ever

Papyrus was a dignified man, which was why he was certainly not blubbering great, wet tears into a tissue he had pulled from his bedside table, wheezing incoherently as he haphazardly wiped the snot from his face, jaw open and drooling in a fit of, what he would come to refer as, ‘groom’s hysteria’. Certainly not, he had taken your proposition with the single, flawless stream of tears, that glistened magnificently, and had certainly not, _certainly not_ , cried out “SANS! S-SANS, SANS IT’S H-HAPPENING!” That wasn’t the correct thing to do when being proposed to. That was the image he would have loved to portray. Stoic and dignified. But as he scrambled to the wall that separated his room from his brother’s, not even giving you a solid answer yet, and whacking with his sodden fist, you felt like he hadn’t attained it.

“SANS! SANS, IT’S _HAPPENING_ –”

You heard a bleary voice, low and heavy with recent sleep, tumble through the wall.

“i heard ya man, lemme just get the trombone.”

… Trombone? He hadn’t given you an answer yet, why would–

You heard the first few, stuttered notes of the bridal chorus blare through the wall, slurred and haphazard, Papyrus puffing his chest. The notes petered off.

“… can you remember what key this is in? it’s been ages since you made me learn this–”

“THE KEY OF LOVE, SANS!”

“that’s, what, d major? d major.”

You heard him toot out a few more notes, before he cleared his throat.

“… yeah, yeah, that’s it. alright, sorry, my bad. carry on.”

The song started again, in earnest, as Papyrus posed. You were still on your knee, stunned.

“I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS… ACCEPT!”

He clasped his hands together, bouncing from foot to foot as the bridal march slowly faded away as Sans became bored, to the romantic toots of ‘Funky Town’.

“I’M GOING TO LOOK SO GOOD IN A BRIDAL GOWN!”

 

* * *

 

“alright, i consider myself a pretty good prankster, but i’m gonna concede and say this is straight up hilarious.”

You were kneeling in, what you hoped, was a fresh puddle of beer, in what was probably the greasiest establishment you had ever eaten in. Repeatedly. Sans’ guffaws died away to thin hiccups of laughter, high against his baritone voice. He wiped a tear.

“like, whew… that’s… that’s dedication to the bit, the ring looks real and everything.”

“It is,” you hissed through grit teeth as everyone stared, having caught on far before he had.

He blinked. Then again.

“… wait, you wanna marry me? for reals? why?”

The question took you aback, and you saw the tips of his teeth as his jaw hung slack.

“Because I love you.”

“i mean, that’s, wow, that’s great but, uh, why–”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, just enough to shut him up, before peeling yourself back. Grillby had his elbows on the bar, head in his hands like a snooping schoolgirl, and you were certain you were never going to shift that image.

“Look, do you want to get married or not–”

“hell yeah i do.”

Relief trickled coldly out of your stomach, and you sighed. “That’s not something you can say at the alter.”

“hell no,” he responded, eyes wide, the events having not sunk in yet.

 

* * *

 

Gaster, is, for the first time in a very, very long time, in disbelief. Speechless, you would have said, but you didn’t want to be callous. You were propped up in his front room on one knee, having positioned yourself to surprise him when he came back from surveying his notes. Unfortunately, that had taken twenty minutes, and you didn’t want to stand because you were left with the lingering suspicion that as soon as you rose he would glide back in and the moment would be ruined. His signing failed him as his eyes locked open.

He pointed to the ring.

Then to himself.

Then to you. As if there had been a cultural misunderstanding. Finally, he found his composure, even if it were shaky.

‘… Are you proposing marriage? For what purpose?’

You lay there, on your sore knee, aghast.  

“Because I want to marry you?”

‘Oh.’

Another beat of silence, and you were becoming worried, your lungs shrinking in size with every second.

‘… I don’t mean to appear ungrateful, but you have to understand, this was… Not something I thought would occur. Ever.’

“Someone proposing to you?”

‘Ever. You’ve been in my company for far longer than five minutes. Surely you see why.’

Ah, there it was.

‘I accept, obviously. I should say, I can’t wear cufflinks, I’ll just absorb them.’


	9. All Three/Reader, Proposing in Turn

“we should get married. but like... ironic married.”

You spat your coffee out in a fine mist all over the café table, before blustering an apology to a passing waitress. Sans looked as unphased as ever, dipping his finger into a small container of ketchup and sucking at it. Your heart, as well as everything else, paused, and you could only bluster the first thing that came to mind.

“... How would that be ironic?”

“’cause i’m not the sorta dude that gets married. people’ll ask, and we’ll show ‘em the rings, and laugh our asses off. it’s perfect. it’ll be the greatest prank of all time. see, they’ll think we’re hitched, ‘cause we are, but it’s hilarious, because i wouldn’t normally do that kinda thing. there’s layers of subtle comedy at work.”

You saw something akin to a blush, which you were sure it wasn’t, as Sans did not blush, tinge his face.

“it’ll be, uh... r-really rad, y’know?”

You watched him produce a ring-pop from his pocket.

“... payday ain’t till friday, so, uh... i mean, you can eat it if you want?”

 

* * *

 

“HUMAN, I HAVE DELIGHTFUL NEWS!”

You blinked at him, half asleep, as you were in the process of rolling out of his bed. The night before had left you achy, and being blared at wasn’t helping. He was hopping on his feet, stark naked in the middle of the room and squealing, holding a small box. Light filtered in from the windows, reflecting off of his stark white bones to give him a sheen.

“LAST NIGHT WAS...”

He purred, as if you had somehow forgotten.

“OUR THIRD DATE! AND YOU BLEW MY VIRGINITY TO PIECES! DELIGHTFUL! AND ACCORDING TO MY DATING BOOK, THE NEXT STEP IN A LOVING, HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP IS...”

He slammed his knee to the floor with a heaving crack, suppressing a wince, and opened the box.

“MARRIAGE!”

You watched him, jaw agape. You had only fucked him.

“I--”

Tears sprung to his eyes as he picked you up into a crushing embrace, before spinning you around, flesh against bone.

“I’M SO HAPPY!!”

You would be lying if you said he wasn’t cute.

 

* * *

 

 

‘I have...’

Gaster pretended to clear his throat, looming at the doorway, pitch black against the soft light of the hall.

‘A proposition for you. Come in. Would you like a drink?’

He caught himself, face falling as you walked inside the immaculate, well furnished home. It was like a show house in a magazine, and you assumed it was because he didn’t really do any living in it.

‘... I do not have any alcohol, now that I think on it. But I did purchase food many years ago in case I ever hosted guests, so there’s a real chance the potatoes have broken down into a vodka-slop.’

“I don’t want the vodka-slop.”

‘Very reasonable.’

You sat down on the leather chair, and he seated himself next to you, far closer than he usually did at the start of your dates. They would always begin with a conversation, as he crushed his instinctual distrust to linger and drift closer, before he was actively embracing you, but you could already feel the heat from his body.

‘... I’ve been thinking on some things--’

“Careful.”

You watched a wry smile play on his lips, but he continued.

‘And I think it would be... Mutually beneficial, as it were, if we were to enter a--’

You watched him wring his hands, cutting off his method of speech, and it occurred to you that you had never seen him so anxious.

‘... A, you know, a contract.’

You thought for a moment, perplexed, and you heard the bones of his hands creak.

“... For my soul?”

‘... Somewhat. Figuratively. I’m not going to literally tear your soul out of your chest, that would be absurd. That would be an absurd thing to do. I’m just, you know...’

This was delightful, watching him squirm. You had never seen him do it.

‘... Pledge yourself to me until the day you die, is what I’m suggesting.’

You laughed, giving him a whack on the shoulder.

“I will. Did you have to word it like that? Are you twelve?”

He grumbled, and looked to the fireplace.

‘Is it so wrong to have a hard time talking about these-- _you said yes?_ ’


	10. Sans/Reader, Asphyxiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (unhealthy sexual practices present in this one, fair warning)

Your hands tighten around his vertebrae, and they click, like chimes. His gaze is dark, and steely, and you barely see it, lit by the window. It’s two A.M, and he had brought up the idea at one fifty-five exactly. This is not the right way to do things, you know, but with Sans you’re never sure what the right way is. You trust he will tell you if he’s not comfortable. You hope he will. You doubt it. 

The first gurgle, as his bones creak under your strength, and saliva drips from his mouth. You don’t know if he needs to breathe, specifically, or if it’s a fancy accessory on a bare-bones body. He’s half naked, just a pair of sweatpants. No boxers. The pips of his eyes roll into his head, and you smell the thick musk of precum as he spasms, his voice straining and croaking. You loosen your grip, briefly, to hear him. 

“… t-till i pass out–”

You resume, tightening your grip once again, until you could wrench his neck straight from his socket. You see tears dripping off his face, mixed with an odd, blissed out expression you’ve never seen before. His right shoulder is shaking, with purpose, rather than the building convulsions of asphyxiation, and you know he’s going to cum soon. 

His teeth lift, and he’s saying something else. You wish he would get it all out at once, so you can fuck him guilt-free. 

“… both– both– both h-hands–”

You remove your grip entirely as you slide his leaking cock in you, and to your disappointment his expression remains locked. You cling to his neck you’re wringing a cloth, twisting it slowly to-and-fro, as if you’re going to snap it, and his cries are muffled by your hands, and the wet sound of you fucking him. He can’t move. He can’t see, now, your grip is too tight and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him harder, felt him meet your movements like this, all of his effort is being put into fucking you as hard and fast as he can, while the higher parts of his mind tries to let go, whilst the lowest part desperately clings to consciousness. 

You cum around him, grinding and silent, as befits two in the morning, and your spasming grip pushes him over the edge. You feel a liquid spurt into you, hot, then quickly cold, just as he goes slack, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him cum harder.

You slide off and give him a peck on the cheek, and rigidity slowly slithers back into his bones, consciousness with it. You stay awake to make sure he’s alright, and when he says yes, you sleep. 

You notice the purple welts the next day, the ones you didn’t know he could get. Otherwise, he looks the same as ever. 


	11. All Three At Once/Reader, Heats, Foursome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now you know i couldn't of one of these without a heat chapter, that's absurd

You can’t move. It’s been two hours and you can’t move. 

The agreement was that you used the safeword when you wanted to duck out, and then they could tend to themselves. But you were happy with this arrangement, you could be bent and posed to their wishes and used as needed.

You’re pinned down under their combined weight. Papyrus is mercilessly rutting into you from the back, soaked with sweat and cum, his voice croaking and painful. He can’t stop crying out when he cums, and when you strain through the haze of pleasure, you hear him mumbling “MINE– M-MINE, YOU’RE MINE, YOU’RE MINE–”, and you put it down to the heat.

You’re servicing Sans with your mouth, and he looks as dazed and desperate as you do, his thick cock spurting once again. Tears are streaming down his face from the overstimulation, caked ones sitting underneath the fresh, and he’s weakly bucking his hips. You feel Papyrus clamp his teeth roughly on your shoulder as he maintains his brutal pace.

“i– i can’t– i can’t keep goin’–’

As soon as the words are out of his mouth you hear a thick, low growl as Sans is pulled out of you forcefully, your tongue numb, as Gaster crams himself in your mouth, clamping his hands to your skull to fuck your face. You glance over and see Sans weakly fucking himself to the sight of you being ravaged, tuning out his brother. Gaster cums already, and you hear him weakly speak. 

“Ah, f– good– g-good, good–”

He resumes, faster than ever, and you see him wrench Papyrus’ face to his to pull him into a deep, primal kiss, both of them fucking you with wild abandon to climax after climax after climax. You see Sans’ arm speed up as your eyes roll back once again, every muscle aching, and you hear him shout out in ecstasy as he’s overwhelmed once again, spurting his huge load. 

Three hours. It’s been three hours and you can’t move. 


	12. All Three/Reader, Love Letters

Papyrus isn’t surprised. If anything, he’s annoyed. Why did it take so long for this to happen, he’s the Great Papyrus? He picks up the note, dusting the errant snow off of it, making sure not to get any on the carpet. Carefully, and with great purpose, he walks to the couch, and positions himself accordingly; standing, and braced to swoon. 

He read through it, savouring every word, every anonymous confession. He only made a third of the way through before he violently swooned, hand braced to his skull and fanning himself with the letter. It was so _saucy!_

He grinned, cheeks flushing. He needed to find out. 

 

* * *

 

 

Sans reads it over in Grilby’s, straight faced, sipping on his ketchup with a silly straw, the low pops of Grillby himself lulling him into a relaxed mood. Geeze, this thing was flowery. Smelled of–

He sniffed. 

… Something like perfume? Cologne? He knew what it was getting at, at least. He quirked his brow, a sincere smile pulling on his teeth. Huh. It called him ‘cute’. He needed to tread softly with this one. He could snoop out who had written it, he was good at that, seeing things people didn’t want him to see. But he couldn’t go in all guns blazing. It could be a joke, after all. 

 

* * *

 

 

Gaster found it on his doorstep, in the middle of the night, which he didn’t understand as he didn’t sleep, and thus all times to drop it off are ‘risky’. But there it was, in a tacky little envelope, sitting on the concrete. He sighed and picked it up. If this is another letter about how much he’s loathed–

Oh. Oh it’s a _love letter_. A letter. About being loved. A love letter. One of those things he’s never received. He looked it over, stunned, scanning it for the inevitable passive-aggressiveness that would be deeply set within it. 

… It was sincere?

‘How pointless’, he thought, setting in his desk drawer to keep forever.


	13. All Three/Reader, Preferences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one i forgot to crosspost, whoops

Sans likes attentiveness. Attentiveness, he will insist to you, even in the middle of sex, is different than praise. Praise is odd. He’s Sans. He doesn’t _get_  praise, it’s just not what he does, it feels insincere, even in earnest. But being in tune with each other, responding wordlessly to each movement, to every moan and gasp and thrust until you need nothing more than glances and nods to fuck each other to climax, now that, _that_ is a turn on. 

Papyrus, on the other hand, cannot get enough praise. You pass the point where you would consider it ‘too much’, and yet he laps it up. You whisper ‘good boy’ to his cheek when you hug him, and it throws him off-kilter for hours, having to hide his thick, dripping cock until he can get you alone, prostrate himself at your feet and beg to be attended to, weakly fucking himself because you know who shows restraint? _Good boys_. 

Gaster, though he would never admit it, short of being absolutely plastered and being in an especially cheery mood, is a sucker for romance. ‘Such things are beneath me’, he’ll say to you, and you believe him, until you learn that he has a soft spot for the concept as a whole. It’s a mystery to you, until you consider that modern romantic conventions were shaped by the past he resided in. He, for all intents and purposes, grew with them. Light a candle, push him to the bed and say you’re going to make love and he, to your surprise, will _melt_. 

He’ll deny it, of course. As he said, such things are beneath him. Or on top of him, that as well. 


	14. Papyrus/Reader, Eating Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a request from the lovely nsfwlane! ^^

 

“HUMAN! HUMAN, PLEASE!”

You tapped away at your phone, ignoring his cries from upstairs. You heard his restraints jingling under the force of his movements, under his erratic thrashes.

“I’M BEGGING YOU, HUMAN, I’M _BEGGING_ YOU, PLEASE, GOD!”

You looked to the controls to your left. It was currently on setting one, of seven, the lowest possible level of stimulation, just enough so that you know it’s there, but not so much that you can go anywhere with it. It had been on setting one for the past hour and a half, and you could smell the musk from your point on the couch downstairs. You heard clanking, like windchimes as he shook, and you could tell he was trying to fuck the air, the movement and the rush of air against his puffy cunt coming just close enough to be stimulating. He was sobbing, but he hadn’t even murmured the safeword, and so you left him to it.

“PL-E-E-EASE! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!”

Oh, you had a Skype message.

“I’M SO-- I’M SO WET, THE SHEETS, MY BEDSHEETS, THEY’RE-- IT’S SUCH A MESS--”

Your breath quickened, bobbing your knees. You increased the vibration, ever so slightly, before dipping it back down to it’s lowest setting, and he wailed, cloying tears marring his now-raspy voice. He knew the rules of this game.

An app needed updating.

He let out a howl of disdain, before returning to roughly fucking the air, vigorous movements you knew he wanted done to him, and as he started highly groaning, every motion squeezing one from his maw, you knew he might cum from the motion alone. Finally, to his relief, you bounded up the stairs, cranking the vibrator up to ‘two’ as you did so, your own burgeoning arousal finally spurring you into action. When you walked in, you were hit by a wave of musk; primal and raw and sweet, as he lay writhing, sweating, on his bed, every bone twitching under his aching need to be touched. His blindold was half off under the movements, and he blearily looked at you with his free socket, naked, having cast off his dignity.

“PLEASE,” he mouthed, glancing to his cunt, “PLEASE LET ME CUM.”

You licked your lips in anticipation. This had taken a bit of practice. A cock he could summon no problem, it was what he was used to, but this was new to him. This was his first time with it, the first time he would be eaten out, but the second you puffed your warm breath over his slit there was a chance he could cum then and there. It was a risk you were willing to take. With deft hands, you undid only one of the cuffs connecting his arms to the bed. He set to work on what he could reach immediately, methodically running his hands over his own ribs, rubbing himself like he had never been touched before. Enough foreplay, you thought. Pinning his femurs roughly to the sides, as they were unweighted by flesh and thus had greater mobility, you brought your tongue to his slit and lapped greedily at it, thrumming your tongue against his clit.

He came immediately, convulsing, screaming as he experienced a clitoral orgasm for the first time in his life, riding it out on your tongue, slurring and begging and moaning. You felt the faint movements of the vibrator through his folds, but you maintained your rapid pace until the pips of his eyes rolled back.

“Such a good boy,” you murmured into his folds, the vibrations making him spasm, eyes glazed as his hips bobbed absently, searching for more stimulus.

You braced both of your hands to his tailbone, bringing his cunt closer, allowing you to increase the pressure with your tongue.

“Say it.”

Papyrus was stroking lazily at his ribs, preparing himself for the onslaught.

“I’M SUCH A GOOD BOY--”

You rutted his desperately over sensitive, puffy clit with your tongue, lapping him up and making sure to apply excruciating pressure to it, holding him in place so he couldn’t escape. He was screeching, mouth open and wailing, tears splattering against his already soaked bed as you forced him to cum again, making him croak out a pathetic noise as speech left him.

“Such a good boy, cumming like that. So good at following orders, aren’t you, Papyrus?”

He looked drunk, his mind vacant, his body quivering. The hand on his rib was shaking under the movements, until it all slowed to a crawl once again as the apex retreated, leaving him slow, and warm.

You cranked the vibrator to max, pulling it out of his sopping, slick cunt by the flared base, before cramming it back in. Now this, this was the real first today.

“H--H--HUMAN-- HUMAN THAT’S-- OH MY--”

“So loud,” you praised, and you felt his femurs clamp down around your shoulders in response as he ground his slit into your face, almost smothering you, soaking you from nose to chin as you worked the vibe in and out, just underneath your face. Pink, and cute, he had picked this one himself after you had both discussed it, and you watched with rapt fascination as it became lost in the translucent, ghostly flesh, before it reappeared seconds later. Mystifying. You could look at it all day. You pulled it out, until the tip was just penetrating him, and he whimpered at the loss, now nursing a desperate, new need to be filled, to be fucked.

“PLEASE, PLEASE PUT IT BACK, I’VE BEEN SUCH A GOOD SKELETON.”

You smiled at him, sincerely, almost pulling you away from the taste of him on your lips and the heavy thrum of arousal in you.

“You have, haven’t you? You’re so brave, Papyrus, for putting up with this. For being so strong, and brave. Do you want me to slip it back in?”

You pulled it out further, to mock him gently. The great Papyrus was at your disposal, soaked and desperate on the bed, completely at your mercy.

“PLEASE,” he whimpered.

“Please what?”

“PLEASE FUCK ME WITH IT, I CAN’T--”

You braced the base against the palm of your hand, before cramming it in as deep as it would go, a difficult task considering that he arched his spine entirely, making the follow-through difficult. You set a brutal pace, giving him no warning, pushing and pulling, filling him to the brim until everything felt excruciatingly hot as overstimulation took ahold of him, tears falling freely from his face, slick trails of drool following in turn. He was being rammed, every syllable a stutter under the impact.

“H-- H-- HUMAN-- I’M-- I’M GOING TO C--”

He went still, totally, rigidly still, his only movement being his strangled, barely-there cries, and the slight bob of his clit as the orgasm made it’s way through him, rushing forward and back, up and down, until he no longer knew where he was, who he was, only that _he was cumming he was cumming oh God--_

His bobbing ceased, and he gasped for air. “PLEASE,” he pleaded, “I JUST NEED A BREAK, A LITTLE--”

You brought the pulsing vibrator to his tortured clit, and he screamed.

“Such a good boy,” you whispered, keeping an ear out for the safeword that never came.  


	15. Gaster/Reader, Hatesex

 

You _hate_ this man. You _loathe_ him, you _despise_ him; he’s an arrogant, dismissive prick who flaunts his status over you like a slab of meat over a starving dog, lording over lifetimes you could never live out, never mind achieve.

You _hate_ him. His stupid, mask-like face, his long, spindly hands that creeped you out when you looked at them for too long, his alien, foreign body, that slipped and slurred into itself like oil in motion.

You are, of course, fucking him, because he hates you just as much. It adds something. Spite turns to violence, turns to thrusting, turns to you beating the ever loving shit out of each other as you fuck. Who cums first? On the more intense days, it’s neither or you, you need to scrape and claw it for yourself, as he certainly wont.

You heard him murmur something, his low, low voice always imperceptible, requiring him to sign. But this, this was important. His long hand dragged its way up your leg, leaving welts, to tear apart your underwear.

“ _Cunt_ ,” he spat, his voice no louder than a croak.

He drove himself into you at a breakneck pace, as if trying to stab you. You squashed your thighs around him until he hissed in pain, giving as good as you could get. With a long, slow withdraw and a scowl, his desk cleared, he crammed himself back into you, working your cunt in a rigid, agonizing manner, the sort he knew would make you cum, the sort of thing he would use to claim his ‘superiority’, as he did in all things. He was the Royal Scientist. A paragon of his kin. The backbone upon which magic was built. Old, and timeless, with a legacy that could not be burned.

You were a Human. Fragile, and soft, and prone to dying. He loved that.

You clawed at his neck with your nails under the guise of an assault, taking great care to rake as hard as you could. It got him off, but he would never say so.

“ _Bastard_ ,” you mocked, and he grabbed your hair before rattling your skull against the wooden table, the pain making your writhe as he leaned in, his warm breath on your neck. There was bile in his voice.

“ _Whore._ ”

Your frame squeaked across the table, legs hanging off of it’s sides as he pummeled you, the impact making you judder every time. His arms were shaking as he restrained his own enjoyment to ruin you.

‘God’, you thought, ‘isn’t that sick?’

You could beat him back, you knew, if you wanted to. He’s not physically strong, at least, but the only reason you know that was because he had never tried to shame you for your own strength. But you don’t.

He crams his cock in you again, as if slipping meat on a kebab; with no grace or love. You tighten around him, unintentionally, this time, as you feel a wet heat begin to slowly trickle and coil in your abdomen.

You were going to cum. You were going to scream, and bleed, and cum, and love every second.

You reared back your fist, connecting it with his jaw with a heaving crack, the force slowing him  down as he recoiled, before he whipped back. He looked manic. You smiled sweetly at him, and he shoved two of his fingers in your mouth to gag you, far enough back that you could not find purchase, could not bite them.

He hunched, and swore, and you knew he was going to cum.

You reared back your fist and struck him again, as hard as you could from the table, and he, in turn, slapped you, pushing his fingers back further until everything burned.

The heat was building, like a badly kindled fire, in small, alacritous bursts, before they coalesced in you into a great, swooping flame that made your toes curl and your legs judder, tongue hanging loose as you cursed your own orgasm, pleasure and disappointment rushing through you.

God, look at him.

Smug bastard.

He goes to say something before you writhe around him, making him squeak, _squeak_ for God’s sake as he pumped you full of cum, reared back and panting like an animal in heat, lids fluttering and grip loosening.

Christ almighty, he looked almost cute. You spat at him after he slowly withdrew his fingers, entire body shaking, the force of his orgasm making standing a chore.

‘That was _fantastic_. Get the hell out of my house.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the wait for husk, several very unpleasant irl things have gotten in the way. thank you for understanding ^^


	16. Gaster/Reader, Spooning

‘That front clerk should be fired.’

You glanced to him, waiting out the beat before he would inevitably pipe up again.

‘Literally–’

“Nobody is getting killed,” you insisted, parking yourself down upon the double bed, “because of a clerical error.”

‘… It would set an example.’

“To who?”

‘To the other staff.’

“To the other staff, in this hotel, that we are never going to be staying at again.”

He sighed, white hands braced to his mouth in exasperation before settling back to sign.

‘If you’re going to dismantle my logic, could you not do it quite so easily? You’re being very selfish.’

“Stopping you from setting a man ablaze is selfish?”

‘Very.’

You rolled your eyes, motioning for him to sit down next to you. It was a plain room, with a plush white bed and a cabinet opposite to house a TV. There was a bathroom for your convenience, though you hadn’t the chance to sneak a glance at it. This was the last room, the petrified receptionist had told you, unwilling to speak to Gaster, having recognized him immediately. Your role on the trip, ‘interpreter’, had quickly changed to ‘damage control’.  

Gaster looked deep in thought, before a warmth seeped into his features, the first inkling of an idea.

‘I have a plan,’ he stated. ‘There’s two of us, and only one bed.’

Your breath quickened.

‘You sleep in the bath.’

And all at once, slowed.

“Why can’t you sleep in the bath?”

He looked shocked, as if you had just asked him the most absurd question in the world. ‘Because I don’t want to. So that leaves you. It must be comfortable, they’re meant for bathing. It’s hardly going to be filled with spikes.’

You were going to scream. The pleasant night weather had done nothing to quell your growing irritation towards this… Odd man. But money was money, and if it meant putting up with him for a few more days, interpreting for the non-signers at the various peace talks, then you would accept. It was only supposed to be at the meetings, but he had stuffed a wad of cash in your hands. ‘It’s easier to have you around. If someone doesn’t understand me, I don’t want to resort to having to hit them. Or writing notes.’

You crossed your arms, finding your determination. “I’m not sleeping in the bath.”

‘You can take a pillow.’

“If I recall correctly, you don’t even need to sleep.”

‘True’, he responded, unruffled. ‘But I don’t feel like going out tonight to be gawked at, and I’m not going to loom in the corner like a ghost. Sitting on the bed will help me relax.’

You looked him dead in the eye, folding back the covers. He leaned forward dangerously.

‘Don’t.’

You slid one leg in the bed, louring at him, balancing awkwardly on your foot.

‘Desist.’

You slowly clambered in, head raised in defiance, making a point to take up as much space as possible. The covers were cool, and clean, letting you ignore the weight of his body on the bed.  

You were in the bed.

It was time to sleep. You saw his hands move in a flurry as he scowled.

‘I already made my claim.’

You felt the covers be whipped back, out of your grip, as he slid into the spot next to yours. You turned to face away, bracing yourself against the sheets in case he were to try pushing you out of the bed, and you pushed yourself backwards in preparation. You overshot the mark.

You had forced yourself into a spooning position. He was completely still, and you went to apologise for making things awkward, bobbing your foot at the tactile sensation of his odd body against yours, of thickness that ebbed and flowed around a fixed point. You expected him to shove you away, and to your surprise he raised his hand hesitantly and…

Pet your shoulder haltingly, before retreating, as if tapping a crocodile.

“… Did you just pet me?”

You felt him shake his head, head hovering over your own on the bed, before slowly tucking yours into the crook of his neck. You could get up easily, if you wanted to.

“You did!”

His hand found your shoulder again, rubbing it soothingly, intimately. He continued to shake his head, and you could feel the heat from his face.

“You’re doing it right now!”

His hand swooped in front of your vision to sign, spelling.

‘N-O-T.’

His other hand was on your hip. Your _hip_ , and he still couldn’t own up to it. To force a response out of him, before you could think through your actions, you turned around and swooped back to give him a smooch, a peck, before it hit you. The pinpricks of his eyes shook as he craned away, still connected.

Had you… Overstepped the mark? It was intended as good fun, but if–

He bopped his head forward, kissing you on the forehead in return, before averting his eyes.

… Oh.

You gazed back, dumbstruck.

“I–”

“Goodnight,” he rasped, hastily turning off the bedside lamp and feigning stillness. You were plunged into darkness until you couldn’t see him, could only feel his body breathing heavily against yours and his hands on your hips as he leaned his head into your shoulder.

“… Wait, you can’t get out of talking about this, _you don’t sleep!_ ”

He didn’t move. Faintly, you saw a white hand in the moonlight spell ‘Z-Z-Z-Z’ repeatedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the husk wait. things have been extremely turbulent irl, so it's been difficult to claw the time to write it, as i havent been in the mood. it is happening. 
> 
> i think, to help, i will continue to write and upload fics normally, and keep this on the sidelines to chip away at. it's at 10k words so far, so it's just a case of powering through. 
> 
> thank you for being patient and kind ^^


	17. Gaster/reader, noncon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got a lot of gaster reader requests! tw for noncon. all future chapters will be marked in the chapter name, so it can be easily skipped.

Something is burning, you noted. Everything is swarming, your vision fades in and out from a stark, blinding white to a thick, seeping blackness, but _something_ is burning. Your mind scrambled to make sense of it, of the stimulus, of where you were. Where _were_ you? 

Your eyes snapped open, and you found that you were _nowhere_. 

“Oh,” you heard him rasp, thick, primal and bubbling with contempt, “I had assumed you were going to die.”

It was _inside you_. This _thing_ was _inside you_. 

He was long and looming, pressed disgustingly close until all you could feel was the inky texture of his body, that dripped onto you before vanishing, as if it had never been there. You thrashed, kicking your legs, and he grunted with exertion, rolling the white pips that made up his eyes. 

“Good God, could you please consider me for a moment?”

You thrashed harder, spitting out curses and battering at his chest, each blow falling weakly aside as you couldn’t find purchase. He clasped his cold, dead hands to your back to drive you closer as he thrusted, the force driving your legs apart as he took what he wanted. 

_Burning._

His breaths were ragged and drawn out as he pushed himself that much deeper, taking great pains to look you in the eye, wrenching your head back to face his with long, slick tendrils. 

What _was_ this thing? 

You heard a deep chuckle reverberate from his chest as he flopped his head to your neck, driving in his needle-point teeth, increasing the speed of his movements yet again, until you were jostled against the ‘ground’, an impossible point in space. The fabric of your clothes torn, and desperately loud in your ears as he drove himself into you again and again, his face contorting. His motions became stuttered, his thrusts laboured, one– two– 

He reared back, clamping his hands around your throat as his body shuddered, eyes fluttering, before everything went black again, all at once. 

 _Burning_. 


	18. Papyrus/Reader, Praise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> verrryyy verryyy fluffy. as a self remedy to angst, as i finally finished my darkfic ^^

“I THINK YOU’VE DONE WELL TODAY!!”

You smiled, eyes drooping on the couch, feet sore and limbs loose. The smell of pasta lingered in your nostrils, just cooked, and it was a familiar comfort as you leaned into his warm bones, bunching your fingers in his shirt. 

“You always say that,” you yawned. 

“WELL, I MEAN IT EVERY TIME! SAYING IT OFTEN DOESN’T DIMINISH THE TRUTH BEHIND IT. IF I SAY ‘I SHOWER EVERY DAY’ EVERY TIME I SEE YOU, JUST FOR THE SAKE OF IT, IT DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT THAT I _DO_ , DOES IT?”

You looked at him blearily, ready to nap, listening to him rambling on about a point he could explain in four words. 

“LIFE CAN BE QUITE DIFFICULT SOMETIMES. I MEAN, FOR THE AVERAGE PERSON, LIKE YOU. NOT FOR ME. EVERYTHING IS ALWAYS FANTASTIC FOR ME. BUT FROM WHAT I’VE GLEANED FROM SOAP OPERAS, SOMETIMES YOUR SISTER GETS PREGNANT WITH YOUR HUSBAND’S BABY, OR SOMETIMES A BUS EXPLODES WHEN YOU’RE ABOUT TO CONFESS TO YOUR LONG LOST DAUGHTER, KILLING HER IN A SERIES OF HIGH BUDGET EFFECTS. THE IMPORTANT THING IS THAT YOU’RE FINE! UNLESS YOU’RE THE DAUGHTER IN THIS, IN WHICH CASE, I’M SORRY TO TELL YOU, YOU HAVE EXPLODED.”

“I’ve exploded?”

“YOU HAVE EXPLODED.”

He furrowed his brow in thought, playing with your hair absently. 

“AT LEAST, YOU HAVE IN THIS EXQUISITE METAPHOR.”

You quirked a brow, playing a long.

“What was the point of this metaphor, again?”

“THERE WAS MEANT TO BE A POINT? OH DEAR. UM…”

You watched his mind scramble for a moral, scratching at his skull with his finger.

“… ALWAYS BE YOURSELF?”

“Not quite, honey.”

“… ALWAYS BELIEVE IN YOURSELF! THERE. THERE, THAT WILL DO.”

You laughed, bopping him with your knuckle. 

“DO NOT STRIKE ME BECAUSE I SPEAK THE TRUTH, NO MATTER HOW SOFTLY OR CUTELY!”

You bopped him again, gentler.

“HOW DARE YOU ENGAGE ME IN GENTLE FISTCUFFS.”

He bopped you back, on the forehead.

“NYEH!!”


	19. Sans/Reader, Snuggling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who wants fluff ^^

You thought you were going to have sex, but you would take this, too. **  
**

Sans had shot you a leer, hand running up your parted thighs, and as you breathlessly motioned for him to climb on you and take what he wanted, he scrambled up, stubby legs clattering under the effort, hiding his wheezes as his unfit frame scaled you. Legs braced to your sides, you felt him grind his pelvis into you, before dipping down to run his tongue over your collarbone.

That had been five minutes ago.

He was  still, lying there, head nuzzled on your chest, and snoring softly, his ribs rising and falling gently as his arms lay to his sides, holding no tension. Tentatively, so as not to wake him, you brought your fingers to the dome of his skull, gently tracing a heart shape, finger ghosting delicately over the bone.

You heard a deep rumble in his chest, different from his snores, that came in fits and starts. He wiggled a little on you, but remained asleep, small frame lying prone.

You did it again, and were met with another low, contented noise, of relief and comfort.

… Was he _purring?_

You placed your hand on his head, before gently trickling it to the point where his neck connected to it, a sensitive area, and rubbed in soothing, repetitive motions. The noise started again, but not before he blearily tucked his arms underneath you, to lock you into a hug. You kept the motions going; calming touches on his neck, rubbing to and fro on his cheeks, and he slowly met the touches, his sleepy mind enjoying the tactile sensations. You felt his voice, his deep, low purrs, rumbling into your chest from above in a tickling vibration, before he sighed in contentment as you eased off. If relaxed any more, you thought, he would be drooling. You withdrew, happy to let him lie there, watching his stillness.

“… didja have to stop?” He said, barely awake, just enough to form a sentence.

You resumed, and he pressed his head to your chest once again, getting cosy, feeling your heartbeat.  


	20. Sans/Reader, Pinning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pinning sans to the wall and sucking him off aaaaaa

It's never occurred to you just how light Sans is.

Not light in the sense an adult Human is light, even the most petite of people can be difficult to hoist up, but that is because the average Human has organs to heave around from place to place, complex, intricate bags of flesh that keep us all ticking over. 

Sans doesn’t need that. You can carry him under one arm, like a barrel of beer. You do that sometimes. He likes to doze off like that. 

It was a case of swooping your frame under his legs, your shoulders underneath them both, after a particularly heated makeout session in the hallway. Before he could protest, or even voice his surprise outside of a “what the fuck–” you had slammed him to the wall in your eagerness, working down his sweatpants with two awkwardly placed fingers. 

“a-are you really gonna–”

You took his fat, dripping cock into your mouth, enveloping it all at once to purposefully overwhelm him, to claw out one of those moans you rarely got to hear, and you smirked as best you could when he yelped. You tasted salt, and the unmistakable tang of musk that sent a shiver through you, and set you to work sucking him off. It was difficult, at first, you were in a sexual position you did not know was possible, but after a bumpy start you felt his cock spurt precum thickly into your throat, heard him gasp as you increased the speed of your motions, his thin, hard hands pressing painfully into your scalp as you fucked him with your mouth. The wall shook behind him as he wildly flailed his legs, stuttering out gasps through the closed chamber of his teeth, the sudden stimulation pushing him to cum quickly. 

“f-fu–fuck–fuck– i’m– f– c-cummin’–”

He arched his back, hands pulling painfully on your hair as spurted his load in your mouth, the position forcing you to take it all, and he _squealed_ (a delightful noise you didn’t hear enough of, you thought) as you sucked harder, milking him for all you could, forcing out increasingly heated spurts as his pelvis spasmed, the heat growing to painful, unbearable levels. His legs were thrashing, now, kicking and thudding against the wall behind as the pips of his eyes rolled back and a trail of saliva dripped down his open maw.

“ _fuck– fuck–”_

You picked up the pace, going as fast as you could without choking, feeling his slightly softened cock slip past your lips again and again, until you heard him shout, felt tears patter on the top of your skull as you overstimulated him, until you heard his guttural groan turn to a high, whimpering slur. Suddenly, your mouth was awash with salt yet again as he froze entirely, croaking out weak, strained noises. 

“ _ah–aa–ahh-”_

You felt him tap the top of your scalp with the flat of his palm, the signal that he wanted to duck out, and you pulled your mouth away with a lewd ‘ _pop’,_ still keeping him suspended.

“if ya put me down,” he wheezed, spent, “i’ll have to repay you, huh?”


	21. Papyrus/Reader, Size Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the original request was for macrophillia, but i couldn't go full giant. i hope tall skelly suffices
> 
> (as part of my personal crusade to ruin nofap month for everyone lmao)

He towered over you. Even amongst bipedal Monsters, known for being exceptionally varied, he’s tall. Nowhere near as large as that large onion you sometimes see at the beach, splashing on the horizon, but you doubted they had legs, and so you didn’t count it. Sometimes, you would see Papyrus casually hoist Sans up to reach things out of cupboards, arms hooked under as if carrying a weight. He’s never actually had his height measured, you became curious one day and fetched a tape measure from the drawer in the kitchen, but found that Papyrus had scrubbed out all of the numbers and replaced them with variations on the word ‘SEXY’.

You had a sneaking suspicion he had tried to measure his penis with this, and so put it back in the drawer, making a note to never speak of it to anyone. If you were to estimate, it would sit at a solid ‘WOWZA’ on the tape measure.

He had been altering shirts, when your curiosity had gotten the better of you. He was measuring a black shirt, covered in gaudy patterns, at the shoulders. The torso length didn’t matter; he had to cut them to crop tops anyway, it was the only way they would fit. You beckoned him to hold the fabric tape measure to his temple, while you took the bulk and unfurled it to his feet.

“I’M NOT SURE IF THIS WILL WORK. I’M NOT A FABRIC.”

“I gathered.”

“I’M EIGHTY PERCENT SURE I’M NOT A FABRIC.”

You pulled it taught, chuckling, and read the number.

He’s seven foot seven.

You looked up, and found him waiting on you expectantly, face set in a smile.

_He’s seven foot seven!_

“HUMAN ARE YOU ALRIGHT DOWN THERE.”

_Seven foot--_

“COME BACK TO ME, HUMAN! IT’S BEEN SEVENTEEN SECONDS SINCE I’VE DELIGHTED YOU WITH MY WIT AND I’M GETTING LONELY.”

_Seven--_

He hoisted you up by your underarms to look you in the eye, as he did Sans, your feet dangling uselessly, before planting a smooch on your face and shaking you gently.

“COME BACK!!”

He dropped you, and you landed on your feet with a thud, before he pulled you into a hug, tucking his head over yours as you pressed your face into his ribcage.

God, no wonder he was always hitting door-frames.

It was useful, though.

He could reach shelves, find things that Sans had hidden from you for a cheap laugh. He liked putting your phone on top of the fridge, you could always hear him chuckle.

You could always see him in a crowd. It was a case of whipping your head around, scoping out the skeleton, and ahh-- there he was.

He was very, very strong. His days exercising were no joke. You knew, as he had you suspended by your legs, fingers pushing tightly into the soft flesh of your thighs, his tongue lathing you until you felt a persistent, primal heat building, exacerbated by the heat in your face and the slow pool of blood in your upper body. He was holding you, easily, upside down, as if you weighed nothing at all. Up, and down, shaky strokes that made you wriggle in his grip, confident he wouldn’t drop you. You repaid him in kind, slathering your tongue over his cock, the angle making the act somewhat awkward, but you were both in it for the novelty at this point. He withdrew from you to moan, just a little, and so you maintained your steady thrum over his cock-head, drawing a long bead of precum from the sensitive tip. His stance faltered, his legs shook, but he corrected himself quickly. You heard him gasp for air, as if hiccuping.

“H--HUMAN-- HUMAN IF YOU--- IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN I’LL-- I’LL--”

You wanted to hear him say it. You felt his saliva cool quickly on you, trickling wetly and pooling in a way that made you sigh headily, and you slowly, gently, as if barely touching him at all, licked him.

He yipped, as if in pain, before setting his mouth to work once again, communicating his desperation in the strength of his strokes, in the way he swirled his tongue instantly.

“-- PLEASE--”

You moved slower this time, hands braced to his hips as you dangled, to give yourself leverage, and he squatted a little, just enough to aid your motions.

“I-I’M GETTING DESPERATE,” he cried out, as if you hadn’t noticed. You smirked, enjoying your building orgasm.

“PLEASE,” he begged, and it sounded like a warning.

He swooped a hand down, leaving you suspended in the air by your leg, which he was holding with ease, and crammed your head down upon his cock, skewering his length in the soft, wet moisture of your mouth. It was enough to tip him over the edge, cock pulsing as his hips juddered. You couldn’t cough, could only feel his cum pooling, salty, and thick.

“ _OH GOD-- OH YES-- OH YES-- T-TAKE IT, TAKE IT-- TAKE M-MY-- TAKE MY CUM OH G-GOD--_ ”

His cock juddered erratically, and you did your best to keep sucking him through it, to milk his orgasm for all it was worth, and were rewarded with his whines, growing in pitch until they were cracked, heaving gasps. He returned to his duties now that his arousal was at its peak, pumping his huge load into your mouth, firmly pulsing his tongue, almost painfully, at the spot he knew you loved. He moaned into you as his orgasm finally receded, just in time for you, too, to cum, gasping and shaking in his firm, steady grip, now close to passing out. Softly, if unceremoniously, he lowered you onto the bed, before he sighed with relief and clambered in beside you, spooning you and dwarfing your frame with his.

“THAT,” he declared, voice husky, drawling after expending his lust, “WAS THE BEST SUPLEX I HAVE EVER BEEN A PART OF. USUALLY UNDYNE JUST DISLOCATES MY SHOULDER.”


	22. All Three/Dmab Reader, Cuddling

 

Papyrus eats up affection like Sans eats candy. At any time of day, in any place, in any manner you can think of. You can open your arms and he’ll be pulling you into a crushing embrace. Lift your arms to yawn, and he’ll scoop you up, poking at the exposed muscles on your abdomen. Lie down to rest, and like a pup, he’ll be pressed to you, desperate for attention. Burying his face to your shoulder and inhaling your smell, running his hands up and down your spine to press at the protrusions, marvelling at the hard sinew, poking at your stubble. 

“HAIR! ON THE FACE! HOW MYSTERIOUS!”

You chuckled, before pulling forward your boxers, letting him see your pubes. You winced as his cold hands set to work, pulling them gently. 

“EVERY FOLLICLE IS MORE MYSTERIOUS THAN THE LAST!!”

Sans is more reserved. He’ll side eye you if you try to hug him, a difficult thing to resist, as his compact size demands that you drape yourself over him at all given times, especially to poke fun at the way he bristles. But he indulges you, letting you rest your head over his, even if he rolls his eyes affectionately. 

In private, he flops into you, and lets you do as you wish, sighing as you spoon him, almost entirely wrapping your body around his. 

“you’re like a big blanket,” he said, in a fit of sudden romance. “but, like… a blanket with a hard-on.” 

You bopped him with it, to make your point, and you felt him grin into the arm draped around his neck and his cold hand found it. 

“shame in lettin’ it go to waste.”

Gaster, as you learned, has no idea how to deal with physical affection at first. You tried slipping your arms around him, in private, and found that he froze. It made you feel uneasy. Freezing was not the reaction of someone having a good time, so you stopped at once as he blustered excuses. 

You were doing the dishes when he had pressed himself to you. Tentatively. But firmly. He had cooked you a meal, and it was godawful, and so you were busy trying to scrape the remnants off of a plate so it could be rendered functioning once again, when the warm, yet odd feeling, mass of his body enveloped your back. It was hesitant, but you remained still, until finally, after a few seconds of internal debate, he steadied himself, bone-like hands trickling their way up and down your body, feeling at your muscles; the closest he would ever come to having them himself. 

“This is enjoyable,” you heard him murmur, hot breath turning your neck to gooseflesh as he committed, fully embracing you.

 


	23. Sans/Reader, Pillow Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgot to upload this one, sorry ^^;;

You lay there on his bed, panting after having climaxed, and you felt his cum inside you as he slid out, grinning from one side of his face to the other. He fell limply onto the mattress beside you, heavy and tired, before tracing your hair with his boney finger. 

“i uh… really rocked your world?”

You blinked, settling into his bones, cuddling up to take advantage of the afterglow. You shut your eyes to slip into a restful sleep.

“really… took you to pound town, right?”

You opened your eyes, confused, but letting him ramble. 

“like, on a scale from one to, i dunno, ten, how fun was that? just out of curiosity.”

“What–”

“i mean, if that sex we just had was a restaurant, would you think, ‘oh, hey, i like the food, i’ll eat here again’? or would you think ‘this place is a dump, there’s roaches everywhere, and i’m pretty sure the burritos are doused in anthrax’? ‘cause i would wanna know. if i’m giving people anthrax with my sex burrito, i would want you to tell me, right.”

“It was _great_. Go to _sleep_.”

“oh good, just checkin’.”


	24. Papyrus/Reader, Breasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a bit of a backlog, so i'm just popping them up, i hope i'm not spamming

A single tear rolls down his face, and he looks like he’s gazing upon the face of God. You’ve never seen such an expression of serene bliss upon his face, he’s usually busy shouting, animated and lively, but this, _this_  is true happiness. 

“ _THE BOOBERS_ ,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear him. You look down to your exposed breasts. 

“Would you like to touch them.”

He looks as if he’s going to cry. 


	25. Gaster/Reader, Drunken Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gaster is a worryingly affectionate drunk, but is also has the emotional expression of a spoon when sober. this is not an especially good combo.

 

Gaster was draped over your shoulders, and you had no idea what the fuck was going on. You had left to use the bathroom, and when you had returned he was two fingers deep into a neat whiskey (and into you, he had wheezed, but you rolled your eyes at _that_ little remark), and _draping_ himself over you like a warm, groping blanket. He was slumping into your side, and you had to take a moment to collect yourself, as you had clearly slipped and died in the bathroom and been tossed into an alternate dimension because he didn’t _drape_. Even holding hands was a herculean task, requiring a great deal of patience on your part and an even greater deal of awkward justification on his end.

‘It’s in case you... Wander off. And get lost,’ he would say.

“Like a housecat?”

‘Yes, that’s a perfect example.’

And he wouldn’t shift under your withering gaze, and would instead strive to meet it, until your conversations degenerated into a squinting match so thorough that the two of you could barely see over your equal parts mockery and saccharine love for each other. One that was kept under wraps, certainly, but you knew he was never going to be an open book, it was just how it was.

Good God, he was playing with your _hair_.

You didn’t dislike it. It was just _strange_.

He brought his face to your ear, so you could hear him. He signed mostly, but could speak very, very lowly when needed, even if talking in a normal cadence and prosody was difficult. It was bad manners to whisper into the ear of acquaintances and colleagues, and so you were the only one that ever really heard him. Every syllable warped and settled in your ear canal, before smoothly slipping down your spine and dissipating into shivers with a fine ‘pop’. You were sat rigidly on the couch, watching the whiskey glass slosh in his hand.

He had been downing them like shots in the time it took for you to leave, do what you needed to, and return. His fingers clumsily wound, and unwound, your strands, accidentally tugging here and there and not picking up on your winces.

“ _I’m very lucky to have you,_ ” he rasped, like a bubble in a tar pit, making you shiver as you always did. This was clearly building up to something, and you would be damned if you let him get the upper hand.

“You are,” you stated simply, to cut off any ribbing before it started, and you heard him chuckle, face planted to your neck and he embraced you, pulling you as close as he was able, warm, and inviting, and soft around the edges.

“So modest, as well.”

You looked at him, brows quirked, and he responded with a playful kiss to the side of your neck, hot and wet, before chuckling again, hot breath puffing against your skin and giving you gooseflesh as your breath quickened.

“What’s brought this on?” You asked, more confused than ever, not craving the intimacy until you had been given a sliver.

“I see so many things,” he said, every consonant crisp and sharp, and every vowel slurred, “in books, and in songs, that say I am supposed to be like this.”

“Drunk?”

He stuttered for the first time in his life.

“ _Open_. I tried. I think you have noticed.”

You blinked.

“... That was you _trying_?” And to your surprise, he didn’t bite back with a defensive comment he had formulated before thinking through, he laughed, deeply and sincerely, from the guts.

“It was. And so I was thinking, as I tend to do, what if I were to make an attempt at something, and have it _not_ be a failure from the start, and buck the trend of a lifetime.”

Your brows knit at once, and before you could console him, he continued on, still strumming slowly at your hair, and still murmuring into your neck.

" _Ta da._ ”

You stayed silent, letting the melancholy note hang in the air, and savouring the sort of touch you hadn’t come to expect when you fell in love with him. You knew you might not see it for a long, long time, after all.


	26. Papyrus/Reader, Vampire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little dip into an AU for the occassion! happy halloween, everyone!

“DO NOT BE ALARMED. THE POWER OF THE VAMPIRE IS A SEDUCTIVE ONE, AND IT’S NATURAL TO--”

“ _Get the hell out of my house!_ ”

The lean, menacing figure recoiled, swooshing his cape dramatically in the darkness, until you could only make out the white of his face as he leered at you, moonlight beaming in through your shattered window. You pressed yourself back on the bed, to increase the distance between you and--

That was a skeleton. What the fuck. He said he was a vampire. You can’t have both, that’s-- that’s too many nouns. You had woken up after he had loudly crashed through the window, while narrating his movements, and from that you had gathered that he was called ‘THE DARK AND MYSTERIOUS PAPYRUS’ and he was the ‘MASTER OF STEALTH’. And throwing himself through windows. He had stuck the landing, to your astonishment, and he was encroaching on your personal space. In a panic, you made a cross sign with your fingers to ward him off, but it had no effect. Wasn’t that supposed to ward off the undead? He was a skeleton too, did that make him double undead? Why did he have to suck blood? Where did it go, did he have some sort of digestive system? What on earth was going on--

“NOW,” Papyrus leered, licking at his astonishingly sharp canines, “DON’T YOU WANT TO PRESENT YOUR LOVELY NECK, HMM?” His hands were braced to either side of you, trapping you under him, until he had moved entirely on top, weight pressing down on you as your total astonishment froze you in place.

“No!”

He looked taken aback.

“... WHAT DO YOU MEAN, _‘NO’?”_

“No!”

“BUT I’M... I’M GLAMOURING YOU! YOU SHOULD BE GLAMOURED BY MY SMOOTH BONES AND DELIGHTFUL VAMPIRE CHARISMA.”

“No!”

“PLEASE? I’LL DO YOUR DISHES.”

You were stuck looking up at him, and... Oh. Oh, his clothes, seemingly antiquated, looked... Awfully cheap. As if he had purchased a costume. Though you did not doubt he was a vampire, his teeth looked like they could slice through stone, white and uniform, tapering off to sharp, dangerous edges. You shook your head, appalled at yourself for considering it. Handsome though he was, he had also broken into your home to suck your blood. A cardinal sin, regarding house-guests.

“Y-You can’t be here if you’re uninvited,” you stuttered, “so I’m uninviting you! Right now! Get out!”

His jaw hung open, though you couldn’t help but notice his eyes roam the skin of your neck.

“THAT’S... AN INCREDIBLY RUDE THING TO SAY.”

“I--”

“THERE’S MORE TO VAMPIRES THAN JUST ‘BEING INVITED IN’ AND ‘HATING GARLIC’. IT’S TWENTY SIXTEEN, HUMAN. PLEASE, GET WITH THE TIMES.”

“S-So the stuff about vampires being exquisite lovers is untrue?”

He laughed wildly, loudly, and you wondered how he claimed any victims at all with that amount of bombast.

“OH GOOD GOD, NO.”

He lay there on top of you, compressing you with his weight, enough to hold you in place, but taking the excess on his knees so you wouldn’t be hurt.

“SO.”

“S-So?”

“I CAN’T HELP BUT NOTICE ALL OF THAT BLOOD. PUMPING AROUND. DOING BLOOD THINGS. BLEEDING ABOUT THE PLACE. WOULD, YOU, AH... MIND IF I HAD A SLICE OF THAT PIE.”

You looked back, aghast.

“... THERE’S A LOT OF IT. IF YOU STOOD ON A NEEDLE, I’M WORRIED YOU WOULD POP LIKE A WATER BALLOON!”

“You can’t turn me into a vampire,” you begged. “Please, God, I can’t cope with--”

“OH THAT’S NOT HOW THAT WORKS.”

A silence hung in the air, and he wiggled on top of you, the motion making you feel warm.

“YOU WOULD HAVE TO DRINK MY BLOOD TO BECOME A VAMPIRE. AND YOU CAN’T. BECAUSE I’M A SKELETON. SO YOU ARE PERFECTLY SAFE!”

“You’re a strange monster, pinning me to my bed, pining for my blood, the thing that keeps me alive.”

“AHH,” he fawned, “A ROMANTIC CLICHÉ AS OLD AS TIME ITSELF!”

You remained tight-lipped, looking away, face scrunched.

“... AH, EVERYONE DOES THIS! IT’S ALWAYS ‘I’M GOING TO CALL THE POLICE’ OR ‘OH GOD A CREATURE OF THE NIGHT’. NOBODY WANTS TO GET THEIR BLOOD SUCKED, AND THEN, YOU KNOW, MAYBE CUDDLE FOR A WHILE. I’M NOT A SUCK-AND-RUN SAVAGE! I JUST... GET HUNGRY SOMETIMES. HOT POCKETS DON’T EXIST FOR VAMPIRES. THEY TASTE LIKE SAD. AND I CAN’T KNOCK ON DOORS ANY MORE, PEOPLE JUST SHUT THEM WHEN THEY SEE AN EIGHT FOOT TALL SKELETON FOR SOME REASON--?”

“F-Fine.”

A beat, dust in the air between you, before a smile crossed his face, earnest and oddly innocent compared to the image he was trying to portray.

You nodded, scolding yourself for making such an impulsive decision.

“WOWIE! DON’T WORRY HUMAN, I WON’T MESS THIS UP! JUST A GOOD OLD FASHIONED SANGUINE GORGE--”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“THAT’S FAIR.”

Before you could rescind your agreement, he dove in, warm bone on soft flesh, pressing his teeth softly to your neck before grazing it, huffing and slipping his arms under you for support. Slowly, tantalisingly, he sunk his knife-point canines in with a twist of pain, before you felt something wet gently lap at the skin, and a low rumble follow it, different than the cadence in which he spoke.  
  
“The neck isn’t the most efficient place,” you murmured, writhing under him, reaching under his shirt, “for blood.”

“I KNOW,” he admitted coyly, hand moving to cup your ass, gently grinding until you felt a firmness in his groin, “I JUST LIKE GIVING HICKEYS.”


	27. Papyrus/Reader, Vampire 2; This Time It's Personal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was asked to do more, and it's still halloween, so fuck it! here we gooooo

It was an odd arrangement you had come to with Papyrus. Every few weeks, he would come to your home, now that you were his ‘thrall’, as he put it. He would grope at you a little, tentatively, and then, when he was done feeding and you were left there, spent, open and willing, he would want to cuddle, no matter how many hints you dropped. Then, when you began to doze off, he would vanish and do your dishes as promised.

And then, like the master of the night he was, a paragon of illusion, blending seamlessly into the shadows to stalk the dark, he would borrow your keys and let himself out the front door, but not before leaving a ‘THANK YOU!!’ note.

You looked at your bedside clock. Two in the morning. It was time. The wind rocked the tree branches, tapping them softly against the walls like a low, constant knock. It occurred to you that he only showed up when the moon was full. And, from what you knew of him, you felt that was just for aesthetics.

You saw him toss himself through your open window, one hand braced to the ground, before slowly ascending to his full height, adjusting his cape smugly.

“I left the door open. You don’t have to climb in and do that.”

“I KNOW, BUT I LIKE THE ATMOSPHERE IT CULTIVATES.”

He advanced on you, as a predator does with prey, but now that you knew him he came across as a hungry kitten waiting to pounce on a slice of honey roasted ham.

“NOW, MY THRALL,” he purred, low and seductive, “ _IT’S TIME._ ”

He was pulling it off! Inwardly, you were proud, and set about pushing back the covers, beckoning him, fingers stroking at the small pockmarks his bites left before they fully healed.

“ _FEEDING TIME_.”

Oh God.

“ _TIME FOR ME TO FEED_.”

Never mind. It was a valiant attempt, nonetheless. He clambered on top as he always did, knees to your sides, groin lining up, and he hesitated briefly.

You looked up to him, panting in anticipation, the cool night air making you shiver and press to his warmth.

“Is something wrong?”

“N-NO! NO. NOT _WRONG_ , BUT...”

He tented his fingers, tapping them against one another in a display of bashfulness you hadn’t seen of him.

“I... JUST WANTED TO SAY THANK YOU! FOR THIS. I’VE NEVER HAD A WAY TO FEED CONSISTENTLY BEFORE, AND... I-IT’S NICE, AND I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW I APPRECIATE IT. SO I... WANT TO REWARD YOU.”

He coughed.

“F-FOR BEING MY LOYAL BLOOD-SLAVE, OF COURSE.”

You leered at him, scooting your legs open as wide as you could, hoping he would take the hint.

“I ORDERED YOU A MUFFIN BASKET, AND IT WILL BE HERE TOMORROW. IN THE MORNING. I HOPE THEY’RE ALRIGHT; I CAN’T STICK AROUND TO CHECK BECAUSE I’LL MELT LIKE ICE CREAM IN THE SUN.”

... Oh! Oh, a muffin basket was fine too. You would take that. Sex or muffins, very reasonable.

You smiled sincerely in appreciation, and he beamed back, showing off his gouging teeth, pointed and earnest.

You moved your hair from your neck, and closed your eyes, laying still and bracing yourself. You felt his breath puff against the skin of your neck, warm and foreign, millimeters away, before it lingered and then dissipated into thin moisture. He was taking his time.

Then, you felt a sharpness pierce your skin, and you cried out, pulling him closer. He gripped in turn, until you were crushing in tandem, in desperate contact. You ground into his pants, into the firmness in them, as you always did, and he ground back, the furthest he was usually willing to go. Every time, you would grind and grind and grind until he was sated, though neither of you found release. The closest you would get was when you would think of it when you fucked yourself. He sunk a little deeper than he usually did, before withdrawing, lapping at your neck. He would pierce, then lick, then pierce, and lick. You groaned, pressing him tighter still.

“D-Deeper--”

“HUMAN,” he panted, “HAVE YOU SEEN THE SIZE OF MY TEETH. THEY’RE LIKE STAKES. THERE’S A REASON I NIBBLE; IF I BITE, YOU’LL CATCH A TERRIBLE CASE OF THE DEADS.”

He looked at you, red running down your neck, red on his teeth. Satisfied, he went to resume.

You cupped his hard cock over his pants, and he yelped. You withdrew at once.

“Do you not want to?”

“I DO! I DO, IT’S JUST--”

He moved his head right and left, trying to frame it adequately, his body encaging yours.

“I-- I CAN’T! IT’S... IT’S LIKE YOU SLEEPING WITH LIVESTOCK! IT’S OBSCENE!”

He started sweating, looking you over.

“S-SEXY, SENSUAL LIVESTOCK.”

You looked back at him, flat and unamused.

“Did you just compare me to a cow with eyelashes.”

“AND LIPSTICK, TOO. DON’T UNDERSELL YOURSELF. AND BESIDES, UM...”

There he went, tapping his fingers again, in a way that was so cute to you.

“FEEDING... TAKES A LOT OUT OF YOU! I WOULD HATE TO THINK YOU’RE DOING THIS OUT OF SOME SORT OF... THRALL-Y OBLIGATION. WHICH, TRADITIONALLY, YOU SHOULD, BUT STILL--”

You cupped his cock yet again, squeezing just enough to get your point across. God, he was hard.

“OH-- OH GOD-- I MEAN IF YOU WANT TO DO THAT THEN THAT’S FINE TOO--”

He threw himself back upon you, pressing his teeth to your neck, but not sinking in, sliding down his cheap costume-pants until you felt something prod at your inner thigh, obscured by his body. In turn, you scooted off your pants, just enough to let him in.

“GOD-- _HUMAN-_ -”

He raked his teeth, back and forth, back and forth, just enough to leave welts, as you guided him into you. He pushed, just a little, tentatively, still unsure of how much you could take.

“UM, YOU SEE, THE THING IS, I’M A LOT STRONGER THAN YOU, SO--”

You grabbed him by the cheap velvet and slammed him in, arching your back and wanting everything he could give. He moaned, filling the room with sound, and you hoped nobody was walking under your window. Finally, he bit down again, and you could hear the faint creak of his teeth sinking into your flesh, and the euphoria of the sensation mixing with the primal feeling of being full. He drank, deeply, eyes lidded and thrusting shallowly, his mind struggling to make sense of all the input before he began thrusting in earnest, slow and heavy.

You gripped your legs around him, pulling him tighter, and the noise he let out was low, and resonating. His hands cupped your ass as he moved, bed squeaking under his staccato movements. You keened into him, and he took his weight off of his knees, pressing into you, huffing instinctually as growls worked their way out of the pit of his chest. You were his property, after all. The scales weren’t just tipped in his favour, they were permanently bent. He moved slickly, deeply, his cock pulsing against your inner walls as he pushed himself back and forth, alternating between suckling at your neck and kissing you. Hot, and metallic, like heated copper.

With no effort, with only the bare minimum of exertion required, he lifted you off of the bed and held you by the heft of your ass. He was balancing on his knees, and supporting your entire weight, bouncing you on top of him. Face coated in a deep red, that slowly tinted to brown, as you felt something warm on your neck run down to you collarbone, and then, to your chest, which he tended to with gusto. Whenever he saw it, even the faintest trails of your blood, it was like he was overcome with a myopia. And then, when it was gone, he would resume. Like a vulture picking at carrion, that would fly when done.

It was like you were a fleshlight. He held you, to make sure you didn’t fall, while you gripped at his cape, orgasm building upon itself until it threatened to overcome you. And then he moved you as he wanted; adjusting the angle of your hips, the arch of your spine, until it hit you just how alien he was.

He was sweating, pressing his forehead to yours, craning his long body as you bobbed mindlessly, pleasure forcing your mouth open.

“I-I’M VERY CLOSE--”

You drove yourself down on him, cumming at the sound of his voice; the high, nasally parts tempered until it was gravelly, and deeper with want. You froze, riding it out, body locking as your legs spasmed as warmth pulsed through you, until you could hear the din of your own heartbeat and the slow trickle of blood down your neck.

Papyrus groaned a slurred, indistinct ‘CUMMING, CUMMING, CUMMING--’ into your neck as his hips locked, teeth shifting as he resisted his natural urge to tear your jugular out like twine from a ball. He moved, and moved, until all at once, he couldn’t, until he was holding you still on top of him, soaked and panting.

There was a silence, now. Light, and pleasant, and spent.

You had actually fucked him. Good God. He had been holding back, then, rather than being content with a cheeky grope.

“AHH,” he slurred, cosying himself on your shoulder, breathing heavily and planting small smooches, which nicked at your skin, “I THOUGHT I HAD SNAPPED YOUR PELVIS LIKE KINDLING FOR A MOMENT. PHEW! I’M GLAD I HELD BACK.”

You stroked his back affectionately, in afterglow, before looking at him. A kiss in the heat of sex was one thing, but to--

He smooched you with enthusiasm, before settling back into his comfortable spot.

“YOU’RE LIKE A STEAK TO ME. BECAUSE YOU’RE... _RARE!!_ ”

“Aw!”

“AND ALSO BECAUSE I COULD EAT YOU AT ANY TIME.”

“A... Aw?”

“BUT MOSTLY THE FIRST ONE.”

“Aw!”

The perspiration, and the smell of sex in the air, turned chilly, but you didn’t mind, pressed to your... Master, technically? Technically. You weren’t very clued up on vampire terminology. You saw the faintest tinge of pink in the sky, and he saw it as well, tensing.

“I’LL HAVE TO LEAVE TOMORROW NIGHT, SO, UM... CAN I HANG OUT IN YOUR LIVING ROOM WITH THE CURTAINS CLOSED? I DON'T WANT TO DO THAT THING. WHAT WAS IT. OH RIGHT; DIE.”

“Yeah. After I get some sleep, we can watch TV.”

His face lit up, mouth open in a display of untainted enthusiasm.

“OH MY GOD? YES? YES. I HAVE, LIKE, TWENTY EPISODES OF THE REAL HOUSEWIVES TO CATCH UP ON. GOD, THOSE WOMEN HATE EACH OTHER. AT LEAST THREE OF THEM ARE VAMPIRES.”

“Wait, really?”

“OH YEAH, YOU CAN PICK THEM OUT WHEN YOU ARE ONE! THROW A MAGAZINE AT ME, AND I’LL GO THROUGH IT, AND TELL YOU WHO IS AND ISN’T A VAMPIRE.”

He giggled, blood pasted to his face as if he had eaten his way through your rib-cage and straight to your heart.

“It’s a date, _master._ ”

“GOD, THAT’S _SO_ OUTDATED. ‘BOYFRIEND’ IS FINE.’”

 

 


	28. Gaster/Reader, Fawning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote quite a few oneshots tonight so prepare for notif spam if you have it on, apologies

“You’re _handsome_ , aren’t you?”

Gaster leaned away from you on his couch, the blush on his face evident, his brows knit and, good God, he was _pouting_. 

“My _handsome man_.”

You saw him squeeze his eyes shut in embarrassment, his entire face tinted as you leaned into him, throwing your arms around in an embrace. 

“ _Goopy fella.”_

He looked like he was going to melt a hole through to the center of the Earth. 

“Ah, you love it really, you big sexy slime.”

‘A little’, he huffed, movements small, leaning back in a way that was purely coincidental. He wasn’t reciprocating, oh no, of course not.  


	29. Papyrus/Reader, Face Sitting

“Mm, that good?”

“ _MFMFMMFMM!”_

You weren’t sure what that meant, exactly, but he pulled at your thighs until he was crushing you to his face, flesh sinking into soft bone as the bed softly creaked around you. You felt his phantom tongue probe deeply inside you, making you gasp as you felt it move slowly to and fro. He giggled, pleased with himself, and it tickled you, just a tad, until eventually he found a steady rhythm. You ground down on his hard bones, and he fucked your sopping cunt until you seized up and came violently on top of him, his motions helping you ride it out. When the air went cold, and you crashed to Earth again, you peeled yourself off and shifted back to make him comfortable. He looked dazed, blissed out. 

“Are you ok–”

“I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A CHAIR,” he stated wistfully, somewhere else entirely. 


	30. Sans/Reader, Nudes

Fuck, this was unfair. Fuck. He was in _Grillby’s_ , he couldn’t just walk out with a hard on, people would see, and even Sans’ shamelessness only extended so far. It was a case of putting the phone down, waiting, and just–

_Vrr vrr._

Sans checked it at once, his arousal overwhelming his ability to think and God, _there you were_. 

His cock strained against his pants, precum beading, and he could only shift helplessly on the barstool, and dab at the sweat on his forehead. Nobody could see it under the bar, he reassured himself. He could tend to it when he got home, he could jerk off and cry your name into a pillow and all would be well. Just as soon as–

 _Vrr vrr_. 

Goddamit, how many nudes could a person send? Were you storing them for _this_ occasion? He looked to it, mouth dry, hiding your form with his hand so nobody could see it in person, and fuck, your skin, your softness, how you would feel around his cock _fuck–_

With a ‘god, no’ Sans spurted out his huge load, thick rivulets dropping from the front of his sweatpants and pattering onto the floor below, until he had to cast shame aside, grip the bar, and _thrust_. Imagining himself inside you. Imagining him pumping his thick cock in and out of you, over and over, finding aching, sweet release, until his body shuddered and he threw his head back to– 

“god, _fuck!”_

Sans clattered his fist against the silent bar, until it echoed, filled only with his pants as his ribs ached for air. The comedown kicked it. He looked to the puddle of cum. 

“ah, shit. uh… anythin’ you buy to clean that up, put it on my tab grillbz.” 


	31. Sans/Reader, Guilt

This was absolute horse-shit. Of _course_ he had to catch a bad case of the feelings. Things could never be easy for Sans, no matter how much he wished it were so, because he was the unprecedented master of self sabotage. A black belt of fuckups. Which is why he had confined himself to his room, to pinch the bridge of his nose and ignore the fact you were with Papyrus, who was altogether a better man in every single conceivable way. At least up here, he could stew, and put you out of his mind. 

An excellent plan. 

… 

Sans heard the bedsprings squeak, in the room over. 

 _No_. 

A low giggle, that moved into something breathier, a gasp, Papyrus’ following.

Oh this was _bullshit!_

Sans couldn’t deal with this. 

You moaned, and he felt his cock twitch, backed with the gentle creak of the bed in the room over. Papyrus’ voice was low, and mumbling, probably whispering things to you while you made love, unaware Sans was in his room. The tragic voyeur. In fact, Papyrus’ voice was so indistinct, that it was incredibly easy to tune out. 

“F-Fuck…”

Sans, awash with guilt, with shame, freed his cock from his sweatpants. He hadn’t been this hard in months. Slowly, he tugged on it, matching the rhythmic creak of the bed as best he could, as the noises would slur, die out, and then resume once again, as you and Papyrus had fun, carefree sex. Sex with your _boyfriend_ , his _brother_ , that he was wrong to intrude on. 

 _God_ , he was _filth._

The pace of your fucking increased, and Sans braced his forehead softly to the wall that kept you apart, holding his cupped hands steady and trying to match the pace, and fuck, he _couldn’t._ But he tried, withdrawing his hand to spit on it before bracing his hips and mechanically fucking, wishing it were you, God, why couldn’t it be _you_. 

Your cries grew louder while, thankfully, Papyrus’ remained low and murmured. If they weren’t, Sans wouldn’t have been able to cum. The bed was rattling now, he could feel it through the wall, you were getting fucked _deep_ and _hard._

_“I-I’m gonna cum–!”_

_“cum,”_ Sans mumbled, eyes squeezed shut, lost in his fantasy. God, what it would feel like to be fucking you that hard, to feel you clench around his aching cock, to be _his_ –

Sans spurted his load on the wall, gasping, head reared back, imagining he was cramming you full of his fat cock and bouncing on it, that you were milking him for everything he had until you were full. Long, white-hot streams, that left his bones agonizingly hot, and then, when he was done and the final thrum of his orgasm abated, hellishly cold. 

He stared at his cum-soaked hands, the sound of Papyrus screwing you blaring, now far louder than it had been, like it was being played on a speaker for the sole purpose of mocking him. To drive home his disgust, Papyrus was moaning freely, and it made Sans cringe. Hearing his brother in a way he had never wanted to, and _ignoring_ it to sate his own lust. 

 _Shame_. 


	32. Sans/Reader, Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> word of warning, this is a very heavy one. please take care! tw: violence

You were curled up on the couch, soft flesh mingling with white bones, draped over one another like you had been poured and set, half asleep and occupying the calming space of one another’s company. You were watching an action film, a schlocky one, that had come on the television after both of you stated that getting up for the remote was a hellish task meant for only the strongest of people. You had set about mocking its many, many shortcomings; laughing at the po-faced seriousness of the subject matter, of the dramatic swells of music every time the protagonist hopped from helicopter-to-car-to-plane. Currently, he was giving a speech, and you and Sans were watching, chowing down on handfuls of chips like savages, cosying up. 

“I’m doing this for–”

“my family,” Sans stated, eyes glued to the screen.

“ _– My family._ ”

“i should write this shit,” Sans remarked.

“Please do,” you said back, languidly reaching for the snack bowl Papyrus had kindly prepared earlier, knowing you would both vegetate, snackless, like you were in hell. “You’ll make so much money.”

“oh yeah. gotta get an actor, shave his chest, throw an explosion at him, bam. millionaires. i think it would come out alright. i think i’d do a better job with the soundtrack at least.”

“With your _trombone playing?_ ”

“it’s a dramatic instrument. he can get shot four times, and all you’ll hear is ‘whomp whomp’. people’ll be weepin’ in their seats.”

_“With laughter.”_

“i’ll take it.”

You gave him an affectionate peck on the temple, feeling the comforting weight of his body against yours, arms intertwined. A heaving ‘thwack’  blared from the television, as it turned out doing things for your family did not make you magically immune to punches. Neither did taking your shirt off either, but that didn’t seem to stop… Whatever this guy’s name was. You weren’t paying attention to the plot.

“haha holy shit he hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. like a brick dropped off a building, geeze. that guy would be fuckin’ _dead_.”

“I think he’s about to have a flashback to his family, and stand up.”

“good luck gettin’ a dose of _that_ in a hospital. ‘yeah doc, my spine got punched clean out of my fuckin’ body so i have to flop everywhere like an accordion fallin’ down the stairs, go get my christmas pictures out of my wallet and smoosh ‘em in my wounds that’ll do it.”

You guffawed, almost choking on a mouthful of chips, and he laughed lowly in turn.

“like, look at him, it’s like he wants to come out of this lookin’ like a fine pink mist. he keeps tensin’ up before he gets socked, that’s not how you do that shit in boxing.”

Right on cue, you saw a slab of testosterone hit the ground on the television screen, while the dastardly villain gloated.

“you see that? you tense up, you’re screwed. gotta relax.”

You squinted, watching his posture.

“course,” Sans continued, head dipping back in thought, "there’s a difference between bracin’ and tensing. tensing is ‘ah shit, i’m gonna get hit’ and bracin’ is ‘ah shit, i gotta get hit so i better ride it out,’ y’know? stuff like ‘rollin’ with the punches’, that’s not just an expression. it’s a case of makin’ sure they hit you, but not that hard, because _none_ of ‘em landing turns out to be worse than _all_ of ‘em landing.”

“What, you used to be a brawler?” You teased playfully, bopping him on the chin in a mock-fighting motion. “Got too annoying and kept getting kicks to the jaw?”

“kind of,” he said before he could think, the casual nature of the conversation forcing a kernel of honesty from him. “ma broke my ribs a couple’a times when i was small.”

The silence was excruciating, and dense like tar; thick enough to drown in. A falling, lurid silence.

“it’s, uh… stuff you, uh. pick up.”

Yet more silence as you stared at him, jaw agape, hand clasped to your mouth, while he sat there as if he had admitted he had eaten the last slice of cake.

“it’s… useful stuff to know, y’know? most people do.”

You heard the credits music echo in the living room, forward and back, triumphant tones ringing like distant bell tolls.

“uh… ‘street-smarts’, i think it’s called. ‘cause who knows when some nutjob is gonna bop you one for gettin’ mud on his shirt, or something.”

His hand gripped at the fabric of the sofa, hard enough to tear, while the rest of him remained as relaxed as ever.

“movie’s over… you… wanna fool around?”

 _“Sans,”_ you croaked.

A clumsy, shaking hand pressed at your knee, and rose ever so slightly to push at your inner thigh, but there was no conviction in it.

“Sans, shit– I’m– I’m so sorry–”

“don’t apologise,” he mumbled, and it was in sincerity; in one of those desperate moments you grabbed at with him, and yet, now, there was no way you could enjoy it. He fingered your dry cunt over your clothes, desperate for distraction. Gently, you peeled his limp hand away, and found no resistance.

“the, uh,” Sans faltered, finding his light humour not just falling flat, but sinking like the feeling in his stomach, “the ol’ skeleton charm not doin’ it tonight, huh?”

You pulled him into a hug, with no protest. You held him, as if he had been freshly peeled out of the ring, with battered, brittle bones that had difficulty healing.


	33. Sans/Reader, Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter was so ball bustingly depressing that i was immediately requested to do fluff. ta da!

“what kinda cake is it?”

“Devil’s food.”

“i know that, but what kinda cake is it?”

You whapped him on the shoulder, and he laughed, tucked under a duvet, until only his toes and the his head peeped out, entirely swaddled.

“You look like a caterpillar.”

“thank you.”

He wriggled to get comfortable, limbs shifting.

And wriggled.

Until eventually, he was hidden entirely inside the blanket. You leaned on the skeleton mound, peeling back the top enough to plant a kiss on his head, placing your face on his and breathing in his smell in gentle affection.

“Do you not want the cake I made you?”

“i do,” he responded at once. “but it’s over there.”

You looked to the coffee table two feet away, then tore your gaze back to him.

“You can’t be bothered to _lean?_ ”

“yeah, that’s it.”

He feigned a weak cough, blanket bunching under his chin, somehow making him look plumper.

“my life force… draining away…”

You grabbed the plate; a large slice of chocolate cake topped with frosting, and shoved it into the outcroppings under the blanket, his hands. He stared at it blankly.

“… You aren’t even going to move your _hands?_ ”

“well, i mean… you said this was a pamperin’ day for me. spoil me. give me a manicure, and tell me what bitch-linda did at work.”

You looked at him.

“thank you for the cake.”

You mumbled wryly about ‘not believing this shit’, knowing full well you delighted in the chance to dote on him for once, to take out some of the sting of ‘being Sans’. You skewered a mouthful of cake on the fork, and tore it away from the bulk. Shiny chocolate frosting fell from it, pattering onto the plate, and you saw Sans stare at it like a puppy at dinner. He let out a huff of contentment, waiting for his bounty; all cake with no movement.

You ate the mouthful.

“… aw, c’mon.”

“What,” you said, delighting in your teasing.

“i can’t be expected to take my arms out to feed myself. what is this, fifteen twenty? geeze, just throw me out in the cabbage fields with the other serfs.”

You savoured the cake, delicate and moist. Sweet, but not too much, the bitterness of the dark chocolate–

“i can feel scurvy setting in. my family, dead of the cold or some shit. the cabbages are all i have.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I thought your _brother_ was the drama queen.”

He shrugged in response, waiting expectantly. Admitting defeat, you cut off another small triangle, before poking it into his open mouth, and taking satisfaction in his sigh.

“holy shit.”

“You like it?”

“yeah. never had devil’s food cake before. that’s really good, damn.”

You presented another forkful, watching him move forward to take it, opening his jaw just a tad, his razor sharp teeth peeping out, like a piranhas. He scraped it off, groaning at the taste, before giving up the ghost, taking the plate, and picking up the slice with his hands.

“geeze, i could eat thirty pounds of this stuff. god.”

He presented a fistful of cake.

“you want some?”

You politely declined.

“nice. more for me.”

Soon, the slice was gone, and he was sucking the crumbs from his fingers, eyes lidded. The light was low outside, warm and orange.

“thanks for that,” he said. “you sure you’re not havin’ any? i mean… i can’t give you the piece i just ate back, unless i shove my fingers in my mouth, but you’re not gonna want that one. you bring any more?”

You thought to the tin, in the kitchen. The one Papyrus had glanced into, then declared that it contained ‘ENOUGH CALORIES TO OUTSHINE THE SUN, IN THE EVENT OF A HOUSE FIRE.’

“I did,” you said, “but it’s for you.”

Sans paused, confused, the prospect taking him a moment to grasp.

“oh. sweet. pap can have it–”

You knew Papyrus would never eat a slice. It was why you had picked it.

“Sans, it’s for you. The whole thing is for you. _To eat._ ”

Something vague, and distant passed across Sans’ face, and you knew it was bafflement. Of understanding a concept he was entirely unused to, that made him, to his core, uneasy.

“geeze. a whole cake, huh.”

Suddenly, it lifted into something altogether gentler. You kissed his forehead again, and got comfortable.

“I l–”

“love ya,” he mumbled, settling in for a standard post-cake nap.


	34. Papyrus/Reader, Flu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been struck down with the flu, so i wrote this to make myself feel better -_-

“HUMAN. HUMAN I’M _DYING._ ”

“You have the flu, you big drama queen.”

“UM, I KNOW, THAT’S WHAT I JUST SAID?”

Papyrus hacked, sputtering loudly, his rasping, threadbare voice filling the room with unpleasant barks. He kicked his blanket half off, alternating between shivering and sweating, his flannels bunching up. He didn’t even try to pass it off as a hip new fashion trend. That’s how you knew he was truly ill. You pressed the cold towel to his head, and he leaned in to meet it.

“How did you catch the flu? You aren’t capable of carrying a virus. You don’t have blood.”

“IT’S A MAGICAL FLU.”

“Really?”

“NO. I HAVE NO IDEA. THIS IS PROBABLY ON YOU, COMING INTO MY HOUSE, BEING CUTE AND QUIETLY LEAKING YOUR WEIRD FLUIDS EVERYWHERE, LIKE A SEXY DISHCLOTH.”

This was impossible, as you had not had the flu. Or, if you had, it had been so mild that you hadn’t noticed, and given the whining pile of bones in front of you, you felt as if that was not the case, either.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. I EAT MY GREENS. I WASH MY HANDS. I DO BOTH AT THE SAME TIME, I’M A DANGEROUS REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE. WHY ME?”

You shrugged, careful to avoid the scrunched tissues littering his bed, patting his shoulder.

_“END MY MISERY.”_

“Are you calling ‘slight joint pain’ misery?”

“YES.”

You rolled your eyes, shooshing him at once, while he croaked, pressing at his throat.

“OWWIE.”

To his right was his bowl of chicken soup, that he was working his way up to, speaking difficult and his bones, heavy. He moved sluggishly, in sharp contrast to his usual spryness, actually lying in his bed for the first time in years. He looked flushed, and frail, and, you admitted, a little cute. Lying there, waiting to be doted on.

He hacked up his ribs again, and he didn’t seem quite as cute.

You saw him prise a lozenge out of the pill wrapping, before sliding it into his mouth where, at all once, it tumbled uselessly out of his jaw and fell on his pillow. You stifled a laugh. No longer caring for hygiene, sweating and sticky, he placed it back in his mouth before it fell once again.

_“DOES THIS HELL HAVE NO REPRIEVE.”_

He looked at you, flush and sickly, hands outstretched in a desperate bid for comfort, for you to shield him from an experience he was unused to; illness. He sniffled.

“MY FACE IS LEAKING LIKE AN OVER-WET MOP. I REQUIRE CHEERING UP. KISS ME AT ONCE.”

“No.”

“GIVE ME A SMOOCH!”

_“Flu.”_

“OH RIGHT, WHOOPS. A FOREHEAD PECK?”

_“Flu.”_

“A SOFT FOREHEAD NUZZLE, FOLLOWED BY YOU DOUSING YOURSELF IN ANTIBACTERIAL SLIME LIKE A BAPTISM OF CLEANLINESS?”

You would take that. You dipped your face, bopping your head to his, while he huffed in affection, sniffling. His fever was not going down anytime soon.


	35. Papyrus/Reader, Sensuality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an experiment, to see if i can write something slightly less graphic, but still erotic. please let me know what you think! ^^

He didn’t really know what he was doing.

Too hard, then too soft. Pinching, and pulling, as if he were examining you. It wasn’t deliberate. It was all just new to him, and his ego made sure that he had no qualms with inspecting you in a manner than betrayed the novelty of your body. Soft, and squishy, and filled with odd organs that swished when he lay his head on your stomach. Pulsing, fluttering, the opposite of the hollow, vacuous space that sat in his ribcage. So odd! Beating, thudding, writhing, squirming--

You lay panting on the kitchen table, half naked, after he had stood in front of you, brought his hand to his chin in deep thought, then tore apart your clothes with ease and tossed you back. It was a surprise, as you hadn’t been sure if he had known what sexual desire was, never mind experienced it. You squinted, the light beaming in your eyes as he loomed over you, as if he was going to pick you open with a scalpel; eager and predatory.

“SORRY, I JUST SPRUNG THAT ON YOU, DIDN’T I?”

His fingers traced your collarbone, back and forth, back and forth, until your eyelids fluttered and you were lulled into a trance.

“I’VE BEEN WONDERING HOW TO BROACH THE TOPIC FOR A WHILE. MY DATING GUIDE SAYS TO BE SPONTANEOUS, AND ROMANTIC, BUT...”

He looked out of the door, hoping Sans wouldn’t come home early.

“WHENEVER I STARTED THINKING ABOUT WHAT TO SAY, I WOULD START THINKING TOO HARD, AND FEEL...”

Hot.

“FLUSTERED,” he stammered.

He blew softly on your neck, and prodded at your goosebumps with rapt fascination, accidentally catching a few of the fine hairs in the gaps in his hands. He delicately peeled back the torn tatters of your shirt, before resuming his probing. His finger gently scraped its way to the slight dent in your chest, that marked where your breastbone ended.

“OH,” he breathed, “YOUR STOMACH IS HERE. THE RUMBLE-POUCH.”

It dropped further still, until he was softly circling your belly button. He was close, until you could smell his breath; his shuddering, quickened breath.

“YOUR... ‘NAVEL’? ‘NAVY?’”

“Navel.”

“I THOUGHT I HAD IT RIGHT.”

He poked it experimentally, its purpose eluding him. To Papyrus, you were simply squishy, and filled with oddly placed gaps, whilst Papyrus himself was filled with very sensible, very well thought out gaps. They let his bones move, unimpeded with flesh.

His smooth, warm fingers skittered to your pubic mound, and you were certain he was shaking. He was stood between your legs, hunched over, and he placed a tentative, sloppy kiss on your neck, which you allowed him. He prodded at the mass before, slowly, and with great care, he lowered his fingers, until they were braced against you.

“I’M... NOT QUITE SURE WHAT I’M-- WELL, I MEAN, I KNOW WHAT TO DO, IN THEORY--”

Blustering, he pushed a finger in, and you keened. He stared, jaw hanging open, entirely transfixed on seeing something he both wanted, but had no real idea how to pursue. You clenched your legs around his hips, feeling something hard twitch in his shorts. He took the hint. The room smelled musky, and you pulled him towards you, kissing at his collarbones in that way that always made him feel funny, but now, was making him feel excited.

He paused for a moment.

He was excited to be doing this, he knew, but it felt different than the little knot in his stomach that would furl and snap when he received the compliments he deserved. It was a pressing, fuzzing sort of excitement, that made him feel light headed. And he had felt it many, many times before, though never quite so...

You beckoned him forth.

... Concentrated.

There was nothing, and then, all at once, something firm against you. Papyrus was sweating, arms braced to your sides, face a deep, exposed red.

“SO IF WE WANT TO HAVE SEX-- I-I JUST--?”

He sunk himself in, battering his hand against the table you were on, overwhelmed.

“G-GOOD GOLLY I THINK THAT’S IT. OH MY _GOD,_ ” he groaned.

The pace he set was slow, and rhythmic, his hips driving forward, up, and back, before sliding out to repeat the process. His hands desperately gripped your shoulders, head thrown back. You dimly heard the table batter against the wall, too deep in lust to care, as he moved to kiss you.

“ _OH MY GOD_ ,” he murmured into your mouth, tears working their way down his face as his eyes clamped shut, “ _OH MY GOD--_ ”  


	36. Gaster/Reader, Dirty Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something a little silly ^^

Smooth, stonelike hands tracing their way up your soft flesh, before gleefully digging into you. Your face was pressed to the pillow, and you could almost _hear_ him smiling in the way his breaths puffed against the back of your shoulder, in the way he shuddered lowly. He was never the expressive one. Part of the fun of sex was seeing what you could wring out of him. 

You pushed back to meet his motions, and to your delight heard a thick, lolling rasp of pleasure as your bedsprings squeaked, the headboard thudding against the plaster of your wall. You were going to cum soon, you had been on the precipice for a while and needed just a little push. From the erratic motions of his hips, he was getting close too. You could feel his cock twitch and he grazed his teeth along your neck, face contorted in ecstasy.  

“ _Talk dirty_ ,” you begged. 

His motions slowed, before he resumed his pace. 

“Ahh,” he moaned, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to–”

He cut himself off with a gasp. 

“– B-Be more specific than that.” 

“Insult me,” you pleaded, close, so close, “make me yours, insult me!”

You felt the consonants chatter in your ear, and it was almost sexy.

“ _You’re a festering whore, and nobody likes you. Every insecurity you have is justified. Imbecile._ ”

You burst into tears and his thrusts petered out despite not cumming, and he was awkwardly positioning his hands to try and comfort you. Shoulders? No. Chest? No, that was still quite sexual. You heard him bluster, panic lacing his voice.

“Oh no, oh God almighty, was that too dirty? It was just play.”

You dabbed at your tears, while his hands struggled to find purchase. 

“You said to insult you, was that not what you wanted? Was that– good God, I had assumed you would have an orgasm.”

“When you called me an _imbecile?_ ”

“You requested it.”

“’Whore’ is sexy! ‘Festering’ is not!”

He looked almost offended, but had the sense to suppress it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t consult the bible of whore prefixes before we began fucking, I was occupied.”

He scratched at his face, and the complete absurdity of the situation you were in hit you. Giggles bubbled in your chest, though your face was still wet. 

“I apologise, I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s fine; I asked you to insult me, and you did. Not that you mean any of it. You’re just really awkward.”

 _Now_ he was offended.

“Do you… Want to indulge in that thing you like.”

The thing _he_ liked, prideful bastard. 

You nodded, and he cuddled up to you, entirely unsure of what to say, but making a mental note to run all future snippets of ‘dirty talk’ by you. He cautiously booped you with his erection. 

“No.”

“It was worth a try.”


	37. Gaster/Reader, Snooze

‘If I wanted to lapse into unconsciousness and then not move for an extended period of time I would beat my head against the wall until it cracked like an egg and the membrane came shooting out of my face like piss.’

“ _Someone_ is a grumpy Gus when he’s sleepy!”

‘I don’t know who that is, but I hate him.’

You gave Gaster an affectionate rub of the shoulders whilst he lay face down on the couch, prone and overworked.

“You need to relax.”

‘I can’t relax,’ he puffed. ‘I’m too important to relax. I have things to do.’

You increased the pressure, the motions hard and soothing.

“You’re implying that _I’m_ not important because I sleep for eight hours?”

‘Implying is charitable; I can come out and say it if you would like.’

You stopped the movements, and he grumbled out an apology, sinking into the couch.

‘I’m sorry. It’s been a busy few years. And you’re very easy to laugh at.’

“Speak for yourself, I’m not being kneaded like overworked dough. Now do you want me to keep going or not?”

‘Please do. I have a knot in my back big enough to tip me over.’

You rolled your eyes, resuming your work as his shoulders loosened and he let out a deep grunt of satisfaction.

‘God, that’s nice,’ he admitted. ‘If I get any more tense I’ll snap like elastic and probably kill someone.’

“Metaphorical snapping,” you said whilst rubbing his shoulders, making sure to rub at the firmest parts, “or literal snapping?”

‘We’ll see when we get there. Not at you, however.’

“Oh, that goes without saying.”

Gaster exhaled in suppressed, easy laughter, and you joined him. And then he did it again. And then it became very clear that what you had said wasn’t so amusing as to warrant two puffs, but he had in fact dozed off. You stretched before flopping down next to him, and he pulled you in to spoon, mumbling about being ‘busy’. 


	38. Sans/DMAB Reader, Size Kink

“That isn’t fair.” 

“life ain’t fair.” 

You pressed your cock to his, determined to get an accurate measurement, and to your chagrin he wasn’t just bigger, he _dwarfed_ you. It wasn’t a penis. It was an abomination, jutting out as if he had glued a sex toy to himself. This was absurd. He shrugged his shoulders, toying with it and as smug as ever.

“not my fault i’m hung like a lampost. not my fault farmers hire me to bludgeon their cows to death with it. it’s a curse. you know how good i look in tight pants? it’s real good; i can’t get anything done.”

He looked at you. The look in his eyes made it click. 

“Wait. Wait, can’t you change the size of it? It’s magic.” 

“i mean, you didn’t say anything about _not_ doing that.” 

“ _It was implied_.” 

Sans laughed, pushing forward and grinding his cock against yours while you shuddered, until he was on your lap and frotting. Shame didn’t occur to him. 

“are you _really_ gonna complain?” he panted, grabbing your ass and pumping his hips. 


	39. Papyrus/Reader, Coffeshop AU

You walked into Starbucks, hungover on a Sunday, and trundled up to the counter as you usually did, eager to stuff your body with caffeine. 

“HI!” 

Was that a skeleton in an apron. 

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” 

You told him, astonished, and he beamed back at you.

“I’M PAPYRUS.” 

… What?  

“… My name, a-aren’t you supposed to write it down? On the cup?” 

“AM I? I WAS JUST CURIOUS.” 

You gave your order hesitantly, unsure if he’s death and will leap the counter to tear your heart out of your chest and consume it to grow in power, and waited for him to begin. He didn’t.

“I’M NOT SURE HOW ANY OF THE MACHINES WORK,” he admitted, looking them over, “BUT IT CAN’T BE THAT HARD.” 

“Your first day?”  
  
“NO, I TRIED TO ORDER A COFFEE AND EVERYONE STARTED SCREAMING AND CRYING. THEY LOCKED THEMSELVES IN THE BATHROOM, YELLING ABOUT THE POLICE. TO BREAK THEM OUT I THINK, THEY MUST BE STUCK. SO I WALKED BEHIND THE COUNTER AND STARTED WORK! I HOPE THEY PAY ME. I’VE JUST BEEN EATING FISTFULS OF THE COFFEE GROUNDS TO PASS THE TIME. AND HITTING SWITCHES. I LEARNED WHICH ONE FIRES SCALDING MILK.”

He pointed to it. 

“BECAUSE IT’S THAT ONE.” 

You blinked. 

“… You _walked behind the counter?”_

“WELL, I DIDN’T _FLY_.” 

In your periphery, you saw the flashing of coloured lights. Papyrus saw them as well, leaning over to wave at the two police officers. 

“AH. PROBABLY HERE FOR THE DONUTS.” 


	40. Sans/Sock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't fit into the x/reader format I've been going with, but I wasn't quite sure where to put it. I hope you like it.

His hands weren’t giving him enough traction. It was two in the morning, his tank top was soaked with sweat and his bones ached. Sans sighed, arm flopped over his eye sockets as his right hand pumped at his half-soft cock, trying to get it all over and done with long enough to get some sleep. **  
**

“come on,” he hissed through grit teeth, tugging enough to hurt. “come on _come on–”_

He put both hands to work, mustering up all the energy he could to pump his hips and finding it just wasn’t enough, he had been at it for too long. He was overstimulated, and at the same time not stimulated enough.

“come on,” he croaked, _“come on–”_

His mattress was squealing, his metacarpals were too soaked with sweat to gain any real purchase on his distended cock. He groaned in frustration, his bones were on fire.

“c’mon,” he choked, nearly battering his pelvis with the force, “come on!”

His strokes were painfully fast, something akin to an orgasm just hovering out of reach. He was bruising his hips, all he could hear was creaking, panting and his own growing cries.

“come–”

He was fucking his hands so hard that it was as if he was pummeling himself.

_“– on!”_

Desperate, he looked around for anything that would help. Casting off the thin shackles of his dignity, he reached over and grabbed a sock before skewering it with his cock, the thick fibres scratching him.

It was filthy, it was vile, it was working.

 _“f–fuckin’– c’mon– c’mon please_ –”

He grunted, unused to the exertion, now sat on his knees. Light seeped in from the window.

Stuttering and in pain, his hips finally locked and he felt the searing heat ripple through his bones before dissipating, leaving him reeking of sweat and semen. His head lolled back and he counted the breaths until his orgasm petered out. Cum dripped from his sock, it was going cold, sticking to him.

He gagged.


	41. Papyrus/DMaB!Reader, Skullfucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this request was... a rather late one that i had forgotten about ^^;

Papyrus wasn’t entirely sure of what was going on but he was more than happy to be participating in it. Even if it involved being ordered around, but kindly, sweetly, with great affection and even greater need.

“SO I JUST… PUT IT IN HERE?”

You nodded, shuddering as he gripped and played absently with your member, running his warm, smooth fingers up it in earnest curiosity. He took a bead of precum between his fingers and stretched it, before sticking it in his mouth and thinking on the taste. His knees clicked gently against the hardwood flooring.

“THAT’S DIFFERENT.”

Circling around the socket, bumping into his cheekbone. Thin, sticky trails marking him.

“THIS SHOULDN’T HURT. PROBABLY. IF IT DOES I’LL JUST TAKE IT OUT. IT SMELLS GOOD…”

He gripped your cock, placing it gently to his socket before taking a deep breath.

“WILL THAT… WILL THAT FEEL NICE?”

It would.

He pushed it in slowly, as agreed upon, and you gripped your own thighs as you suppressed the urge to grab his face and fuck him. Slow and tender he had requested, slow and tender.

It stung, it burned like bleach, but in the best way it could, it was a wholesome, healthy kind of pain, and he grunted and huffed and tried to ride out every second. You asked him if he was alright, skewered on you, and he barked out an appreciative yes. He grabbed your hand from your thigh, that was pressing white dots into your flesh, and mashed it to his skull, encouraging you to fuck him as ferociously as your could, until the room rang with the clap of flesh against bone as he huffed and squealed.

He made choking noises, delightful, suffocating choking noises and you watch the glee seep from his face.

“AM– AM I DOING GOOD?”

He was, you choked, he was. You could see him pawing at his own groin, until he was rutting his pelvis into the hard mass of his hand.

“I– I THOUGHT AS– AS MUCH–”

Harder, harder, almost.

“I WANT TO MAKE YOU _CUM!_ ” 


End file.
